DAWN  O'HARA 


DAWN     O'HARA 


DAWN  O'HARA 

THE    GIRL    WHO    LAUGHED 


BY 

EDNA  FERBER 


FRONTISPIECE  IN  COLORS  BY 

R.  FORD  HARPER 


EIGHTH  EDITION 


i 


GRQSSET     &     DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS          :  :         :  :          NEW    YORK 

Made  in  the  United  States  of  America 


FS 

-. 


Copyright,  ipir,  by 
FREDERICK  A.  STOKES  COMPANY 


All  rights  reserved,  including  that  of  translation  into  foreign 
languages,  including  the  Scandinavian. 


April, 


TO 

MY  DEAR  MOTHER 

WHO   FREQUENTLY   INTERRUPTS 
AND  TO 

MY  SISTER  FANNIE 

WHO  SAYS  "SH-SH-SH!"  OUTSIDE  MY 
DOOR 


C44140 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  THE  SMASH-UP  .     ,.,    ,.,    ,...     .       i 

II  MOSTLY  EGGS     .     .      .     ,..     .     13 

III  GOOD  AS  NEW    .      .      .      .     .     27 

IV  DAWN  DEVELOPS  A  Heimweh  .     40 
V  THE  ABSURD  BECOMES  SERIOUS     56 

VI  STEEPED  IN  GERMAN     .      .      .     74 

VII  BLACKIE'S  PHILOSOPHY       .      .     88 

VIII  KAFFEE  AND  KAFFEEKUGHEN  .    106 

IX  THE  LADY  FROM  VIENNA  .      .127 

X  A  TRAGEDY  OF  GOWNS  .      .      .140 

XI  VON  GERHARD  SPEAKS  .      .      .    155 

XII  BENNIE  THE  CONSOLER       .      .167 

XIII  THE  TEST 185 

XIV  BENNIE    AND   THE    CHARMING 

OLD  MAID 200 

XV  FAREWELL  TO  KNAPFS' .      .      .218 

XVI  JUNE  MOONLIGHT,  AND  A  NEW 

BOARDING  HOUSE      .      .      .   234 

XVII  THE  SHADOW  OF  TERROR   .      .   248 

XVIII  PETER  ORME      .....   264 

XIX  A  TURN  OF  THE  WHEEL  .      .   279 

XX  BLACKIE'S  VACATION  COMES    .   288 

XXI  HAPPINESS 296 


DAWN  O'HARA 


DAWN  O'HARA 


CHAPTER  I  :. 

THE    SMASH-UP 

'"T^HERE  are  a  number  of  things  that  are 
•*•  pleasanter  than  being  sick  in  a  New 
York  boarding-house  when  one's  nearest  dear 
est  is  a  married  sister  up  in  far-away  Michigan. 

Some  one  must  have  been  very  kind,  for 
there  were  doctors,  and  a  blue-and-white  striped 
nurse,  and  bottles  and  things.  There  was  even 
a  vase  of  perky  carnations  —  scarlet  ones.  I 
discovered  that  they  had  a  trick  of  nodding  their 
heads,  saucily.  The  discovery  did  not  appear 
to  surprise  me. 

44  Howdy-do!"  said  I  aloud  to  the  fattest 
and  reddest  carnation  that  overtopped  all  the 
rest.  "  How  in  the  world  did  you  get  in  here  ?  " 

The  striped  nurse  (I  hadn't  noticed  her  be 
fore)  rose  from  some  corner  and  came  swiftly 
over  to  my  bedside,  taking  my  wrist  between 
her  fingers. 


DAWN  O'HARA 

"  I'm  very  well,  thank  you,"  she  said,  smil 
ing,  "  and  I  came  in  at  the  door,  of  course." 

"  I  wasn't  talking  to  you,"  I  snapped, 
crossly,  "  I  was  speaking  to  the  carnations;  par 
ticularly  to  that  elderly  one  at  the  top  —  the  fat 
, ,  .one  who  .keeps;  bowing  and  wagging  his  head 


:at  -me.V 


;  ;  ,;"'pV;yes,"  .d-nswered  the  striped  nurse,  po- 
• '  titely', ' 4*  of  course.  That  one  is  very  lively, 
isn't  he?  But  suppose  we  take  them  out  for  a 
little  while  now." 

She  picked  up  the  vase  and  carried  it  into 
the  corridor,  and  the  carnations  nodded  their 
heads  more  vigorously  than  ever  over  her  shoul 
der. 

I  heard  her  call  softly  to  some  one.  The 
some  one  answered  with  a  sharp  little  cry  that 
sounded  like,  "  Conscious!  " 

The  next  moment  my  own  sister  Norah  came 
quietly  into  the  room,  and  knelt  at  the  side  of 
my  bed  and  took  me  in  her  arms.  It  did  not 
seem  at  all  surprising  that  she  should  be  there, 
patting  me  with  reassuring  little  love  pats,  mur 
muring  over  me  with  her  lips  against  my  cheek, 
calling  me  a  hundred  half-forgotten  pet  names 
that  I  had  not  heard  for  years.  But  then,  noth 
ing  seemed  to  surprise  me  that  surprising  day. 
Not  even  the  sight  of  a  great,  red-haired,  red- 


THE  SMASH-UP 

faced,  scrubbed  looking  man  who  strolled 
into  the  room  just  as  Norah  was  in  the 
midst  of  denouncing  newspapers  in  general,  and 
my  newspaper  in  particular,  and  calling  the 
city  editor  a  slave-driver  and  a  beast.  The 
big,  red-haired  man  stood  regarding  us  tol 
erantly. 

"  Better,  eh?  "  said  he,  not  as  one  who  asks 
a  question,  but  as  though  in  confirmation  of  a 
thought.  Then  he  too  took  my  wrist  between 
his  fingers.  His  touch  was  very  firm  and  cool. 
After  that  he  pulled  down  my  eyelids  and  said, 
"  H'm."  Then  he  patted  my  cheek  smartly 
once  or  twice.  "  You'll  do,"  he  pronounced. 
He  picked  up  a  sheet  of  paper  from  the  table 
and  looked  it  over,  keen-eyed.  There  followed 
a  clinking  of  bottles  and  glasses,  a  few  low- 
spoken  words  to  the  nurse,  and  then,  as  she  left 
the  room  the  big  red-haired  man  seated  himself 
heavily  in  the  chair  near  the  bedside  and  rested 
his  great  hands  on  his  fat  knees.  He  stared 
down  at  me  in  much  the  same  way  that  a  huge 
mastiff  looks  at  a  terrier.  Finally  his  glance 
rested  on  my  limp  left  hand. 

"Married,  h'm?" 

For  a  moment  the  word  would  not  come.     I 
could   hear   Norah    catch   her   breath   quickly. 
Then  — "  Yes,"  answered  I. 
[3] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

"  Husband  living? "  I  could  see  suspicion 
dawning  in  his  cold  gray  eye. 

Again  the  catch  in  Norah's  throat  and  a  lit 
tle  half  warning,  half  supplicating  gesture. 
And  again,  "  Yes,"  said  I. 

The  dawn  of  suspicion  burst  into  full  glow. 

"  Where  is  he?  "  growled  the  red-haired  doc 
tor.  "  At  a  time  like  this?  " 

I  shut  my  eyes  for  a  moment,  too  sick  at 
heart  to  resent  his  manner.  I  could  feel,  more 
than  sec,  that  Sis  was  signaling  him  frantically. 
I  moistened  my  lips  and  answered  him,  bitterly. 

"  He  is  in  the  Starkweather  Hospital  for  the 


insane." 


When  the  red-haired  man  spoke  again  the 
growl  was  quite  gone  from  his  voice. 

"  And  your  home  is  —  where?  " 

"  Nowhere,"  I  replied  meekly,  from  my  pil 
low.  But  at  that  Sis  put  her  hand  out  quickly, 
as  though  she  had  been  struck,  and  said: 

"  My  home  is  her  home.'* 

"Well  then,  take  her  there,"  he  ordered, 
frowning,  "  and  keep  her  there  as  long  as  you 
can.  Newspaper  reporting,  h'm?  In  New 
York?  That's  a  devil  of  a  job  for  a  woman. 
And  a  husband  who  .  .  .  Well,  you'll 
have  to  take  a  six  months'  course  in  loafing, 
young  woman.  And  at  the  end  of  that  time,  if 

[4] 


THE  SMASH-UP 

you  are  still  determined  to  work,  can't  you  pick 
out  something  easier  tr-n  like  taking  in  scrubbing, 
for  instance?  " 

I  managed  a  feeble  smile,  wishing  that  he 
would  go  away  quickly,  so  that  I  might  sleep. 
He  seemed  to  divine  my  thoughts,  for  he  dis 
appeared  into  the  corridor,  taking  Norah  with 
him.  Their  voices,  low-pitched  and  carefully 
guarded,  could  be  heard  as  they  conversed  out 
side  my  door. 

Norah  was  telling  him  the  whole  miserable 
business.  I  wished,  savagely,  that  she  would 
let  me  tell  it,  if  it  must  be  told.  How  could 
she  paint  the  fascination  of  the  man  who  was 
my  husband?  She  had  never  known  the  charm 
of  him  as  I  had  known  it  in  those  few  brief 
months  before  our  marriage.  She  had  never 
felt  the  caress  of  his  voice,  or  the  magnetism 
of  his  strange,  smoldering  eyes  glowing  across 
the  smoke-dimmed  city  room  as  I  had  felt 
them  fixed  on  me.  No  one  had  ever  known 
what  he  had  meant  to  the  girl  of  twenty,  with 
her  brain  full  of  unspoken  dreams  —  dreams 
which  were  all  to  become  glorious  realities  in 
that  wonder-place,  New  York. 

How  he  had  fired  my  country-girl  imagina 
tion!  He  had  been  the  most  brilliant  writer 
on  the  big,  brilliant  sheet  —  and  the  most  dis- 
[5] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

solute.  How  my  heart  had  pounded  on  that 
first  lonely  day  when  this  Wonder-Being  looked 
up  from  his  desk,  saw  me,  and  strolled  over  to 
where  I  sat  before  my  typewriter !  He  smiled 
down  at  me,  companionably.  I'm  quite  sure 
that  my  mouth  must  have  been  wide  open  with 
surprise.  He  had  been  smoking  a  cigarette  — 
an  expensive-looking,  gold-tipped  one.  Now 
he  removed  it  from  between  his  lips  with  that 
hand  that  always  shook  a  little,  and  dropped  it 
to  the  floor,  crushing  it  lightly  with  the  toe  of 
his  boot.  He  threw  back  his  handsome  head 
and  sent  out  the  last  mouthful  of  smoke  in  a 
thin,  lazy  spiral.  I  remember  thinking  what  a 
pity  it  was  that  he  should  have  crushed  that 
costly-looking  cigarette,  just  for  me. 

"  My  name's  Orme,"  he  said,  gravely. 
"  Peter  Orme.  And  if  yours  isn't  Shaugh- 
nessy  or  Burke  at  least,  then  I'm  no  judge  of 
what  black  hair  and  gray  eyes  stand  for." 

"  Then  you're  not,"  retorted  I,  laughing  up 
at  him,  "  for  it  happens  to  be  O'Hara  — 
Dawn  O'Hara,  if  ye  plaze." 

He  picked  up  a  trifle  that  lay  on  my  desk  — • 
a  pencil,  perhaps,  or  a  bit  of  paper  —  and  toyed 
with  it,  absently,  as  though  I  had  not  spoken. 
'I  thought  he  had  not  heard,  and  I  was  con 
scious  of  feeling  a  bit  embarrassed,  and  very 
[6] 


THE  SMASH-UP 

young.  Suddenly  he  raised  his  smoldering  eyes 
to  mine,  and  I  saw  that  they  had  taken  on  a 
deeper  glow.  His  white,  even  teeth  showed  in 
a  half  smile. 

"  Dawn  O'Hara,"  said  he,  slowly,  and  the 
name  had  never  sounded  in  the  least  like  music 
before,  "  Dawn  O'Hara.     It  sounds  like  a  rose1*- 
—  a  pink  blush  rose  that  is  deeper  pink  at  its 
heart,  and  very  sweet." 

He  picked  up  the  trifle  with  which  he  had 
been  toying  and  eyed  it  intently  for  a  moment, 
as  though  his  whole  mind  were  absorbed  in 
it.  Then  he  put  it  down,  turned,  and  walked 
slowly  away.  I  sat  staring  after  him  like  a  lit 
tle  simpleton,  puzzled,  bewildered,  stunned. 
That  had  been  the  beginning  of  it  all. 

He  had  what  we  Irish  call  "  a  way  wid  him." 
I  wonder  now  why  I  did  not  go  mad  with  the 
joy,  and  the  pain,  and  the  uncertainty  of  it  all. 
Never  was  a  girl  so  dazzled,  so  humbled,  so 
worshiped,  so  neglected,  so  courted.  He  was 
a  creature  of  a  thousand  moods  to  torture  one. 
What  guise  would  he  wear  to-day?  Would  he 
be  gay,  or  dour,  or  sullen,  or  teasing  or  pas 
sionate,  or  cold,  or  tender  or  scintillating?  I 
know  that  my  hands  were  always  cold,  and  my 
cheeks  were  always  hot,  those  days. 

He  wrote  like  a  modern  Demosthenes,  with 
[7] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

all  political  New  York  to  quiver  under  his 
philippics.  The  managing  editor  used  to  send 
him  out  on  wonderful  assignments,  and  they 
used  to  hold  the  paper  for  his  stuff  when  it  was 
late.  Sometimes  he  would  be  gone  for  days  at 
a  time,  and  when  he  returned  the  men  would 
look  at  him  with  a  sort  of  admiring  awe.  And 
the  city  editor  would  glance  up  from  beneath 
his  green  eye-shade  and  call  out: 

"  Say,  Orme,  for  a  man  who  has  just  wired 
in  about  a  million  dollars'  worth  of  stuff  seems 
to  me  you  don't  look  very  crisp  and  jaunty." 

"  Haven't  slept  for  a  week,"  Peter  Orme 
would  growl,  and  then  he  would  brush  past 
the  men  who  were  crowded  around  him,  and 
turn  in  my  direction.  And  the  old  hot-and- 
cold,  happy,  frightened,  laughing,  sobbing  sen 
sation  would  have  me  by  the  throat  again. 

Well,  we  were  married.  Love  cast  a  glam 
our  over  his  very  vices.  His  love  of  drink? 
A  weakness  which  I  would  transform  into 
strength.  His  white  hot  flashes  of  uncon 
trollable  temper?  Surely  they  would  die  down 
at  my  cool,  tender  touch.  His  fits  of  abstrac 
tion  and  irritability?  Mere  evidences  of  the 
genius  within.  Oh,  my  worshiping  soul  was 
always  alert  with  an  excuse. 

And  so  we  were  married.  He  had  quite  tired 
[8] 


THE  SMASH-UP 

of  me  in  less  than  a  year,  and  the  hand  that 
had  always  shaken  a  little  shook  a  great  deal 
now,  and  the  fits  of  abstraction  and  temper 
could  be  counted  upon  to  appear  oftener  than 
any  other  moods.  I  used  to  laugh,  sometimes, 
when  I  was  alone,  at  the  bitter  humor  of  it  all. 
It  was  like  a  Duchess  novel  come  to  life. 

His  work  began  to  show  slipshod  in  spots. 
They  talked  to  him  about  it  and  he  laughed  at 
them.  Then,  one  day,  he  left  them  in  the 
ditch  on  the  big  story  of  the  McManus  indict 
ment,  and  the  whole  town  scooped  him,  and  the 
managing  editor  told  him  that  he  must  go. 
His  lapses  had  become  too  frequent.  They 
would  have  to  replace  him  with  a  man  not  so 
brilliant,  perhaps,  but  more  reliable. 

I  daren't  think  of  his  face  as  it  looked  when 
he  came  home  to  the  little  apartment  and  told 
me.  The  smoldering  eyes  were  flaming  now. 
His  lips  were  flecked  with  a  sort  of  foam.  I 
stared  at  him  in  horror.  He  strode  over  to  me, 
clasped  his  fingers  about  my  throat  and  shook 
me  as  a  dog  shakes  a  mouse. 

"Why  don't  you  cry,  eh?"  he  snarled. 
"  Why  don't  you  cry  I" 

And  then  I  did  cry  out  at  what  I  saw  in  his 
eyes.  I  wrenched  myself  free,  fled  to  my 
room,  and  locked  the  door  and  stood  against  ft 

[9] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

with  my  hand  pressed  over  my  heart  until  I 
heard  the  outer  door  slam  and  the  echo  of  his 
footsteps  die  away. 

Divorce !  That  was  my  only  salvation. 
No,  that  would  be  cowardly  now.  I  would 
wait  until  he  was  on  his  feet  again,  and  then  I 
would  demand  my  old  free  life  back  once  more. 
This  existence  that  was  dragging  me  into  the 
gutter  —  this  was  not  life !  Life  was  a  glori 
ous,  beautiful  thing,  and  I  would  have  it  yet. 
I  laid  my  plans,  feverishly,  and  waited.  He 
did  not  come  back  that  night,  or  the  next,  or  the 
next,  or  the  next.  In  desperation  I  went  to 
see  the  men  at  the  office.  No,  they  had  not 
seen  him.  Was  there  anything  that  they  could 
do?  they  asked.  I  smiled,  and  thanked  them, 
and  said,  oh,  Peter  was  so  absent-minded !  No 
doubt  he  had  misdirected  his  letters,  or  some 
thing  of  the  sort.  And  then  I  went  back  to 
the  flat  to  resume  the  horrible  waiting. 

One  week  later  he  turned  up  at  the  old  office 
which  had  cast  him  off.  He  sat  down  at  his 
former  desk  and  began  to  write,  breathlessly,  as 
he  used  to  in  the  days  when  all  the  big  stones 
fell  to  him.  One  of  the  men  reporters  strolled 
up  to  him  and  touched  him  on  the  shoulder, 
man-fashion.  Peter  Orme  raised  his  head  and 
stared  at  him,  and  the  man  sprang  back  in  te*- 

[10] 


THE  SMASH-UP 

ror.  The  smoldering  eyes  had  burned  down  to 
an  ash.  Peter  Orme  was  quite  bereft  of  all  rea 
son.  They  took  him  away  that  night,  and  I 
kept  telling  myself  that  it  wasn't  true;  that  it 
was  all  a  nasty  dream,  and  I  would  wake  up 
pretty  soon,  and  laugh  about  it,  and  tell  it  at 
the  breakfast  table. 

Well,  one  does  not  seek  a  divorce  from  a  hus 
band  who  is  insane.  The  busy  men  on  the  great 
paper  were  very  kind.  They  would  take  me 
back  on  the  staff.  Did  I  think  that  I  still 
could  write  those  amusing  little  human  interest 
stories?  Funny  ones,  you  know,  with  a  punch 
in  'em. 

Oh,  plenty  of  good  stories  left  in  me  yet,  I  as 
sured  them.  They  must  remember  that  I  was 
only  twenty-one,  after  all,  and  at  twenty-one  one 
does  not  lose  the  sense  of  humor. 

And  so  I  went  back  to  my  old  desk,  and 
wrote  bright,  chatty  letters  home  to  Norah,  and 
ground  out  very  funny  stories  with  a  punch  in 
'em,  that  the  husband  in  the  insane  asylum 
might  be  kept  in  comforts.  With  both  hands  I 
hung  on  like  grim  death  to  that  saving  sense  of 
humor,  resolved  to  make  something  of  that  mis 
erable  mess  which  was  my  life  —  to  make  some 
thing  of  it  yet.  And  now  — 

At  this  point  in  my  musings  there  was  an  end 

en] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

of  the  low-voiced  conversation  in  the  hall.  Sis 
tiptoed  in  and  looked  her  disapproval  at  finding 
me  sleepless. 

"  Dawn,  old  girlie,  this  will  never  do.  Shut 
your  eyes  now,  like  a  good  child,  and  go  to 
sleep.  Guess  what  that  great  brute  of  a  doctor 
said!  I  may  take  you  home  with  me  next 
week!  Dawn  dear,  you  will  come,  won't  you? 
You  must!  This  is  killing  you.  Don't  make 
me  go  away  leaving  you  here.  I  couldn't  stand 
it." 

She  leaned  over  my  pillow  and  closed  my  eye 
lids  gently  with  her  sweet,  cool  fingers.  "  You 
are  coming  home  with  me,  and  you  shall  sleep 
and  eat,  and  sleep  and  eat,  until  you  are  as  lively 
as  the  Widow  Malone,  ohone,  and  twice  as  fat. 
Home,  Dawnie  dear,  where  we'll  forget  all 
about  New  York.  Home,  with  me." 

I  reached  up  uncertainly,  and  brought  her 
hand  down  to  my  lips  and  a  great  peace  de 
scended  upon  my  sick  soul.  "  Home  —  with 
you,"  I  said,  like  a  child,  and  fell  asleep. 


CHAPTER  II 

MOSTLY   EGGS 

,  but  it  was  clean,  and  sweet,  and  wonder- 
fully  still,  that  rose-and-white  room  at 
Norah's  !  No  street  cars  to  tear  at  one's  nerves 
with  grinding  brakes  and  clanging  bells;  no 
tramping  of  restless  feet  on  the  concrete  all 
through  the  long,  noisy  hours ;  no  shrieking  mid 
night  joy-riders;  not  one  of  the  hundred  sounds 
which  make  night  hideous  in  the  city.  What 
bliss  to  lie  there,  hour  after  hour,  in  a  delicious 
half-waking,  half-sleeping,  wholly  exquisite  stu 
por,  only  rousing  myself  to  swallow  egg-nogg 
No.  426,  and  then  to  flop  back  again  on  the  big, 
cool  pillow! 

New  York,  with  its  lights,  its  clangor,  its 
millions,  was  only  a  far-away,  jumbled  night 
mare.  The  office,  with  its  clacking  typewriters, 
its  insistent,  nerve-racking  telephone  bells,  its 
systematic  rush,  its  smoke-dimmed  city  room, 
was  but  an  ugly  part  of  the  dream. 

Back  to  that  inferno  of  haste  and  scramble 


DAWN  O'HARA 

and  clatter?  Never!  Never!  I  resolved, 
drowsily.  And  dropped  off  to  sleep  again. 

And  the  sheets.  Oh,  those  sheets  of  No- 
rah's !  Why,  they  were  white,  instead  of  gray ! 
And  they  actually  smelled  of  flowers.  For  that 
matter,  there  were  rosebuds  on  the  silken  cover 
let.  It  took  me  a  week  to  get  chummy  with 
that  rosebud-and-down  quilt.  I  had  to  explain 
carefully  to  Norah  that  after  a  half-dozen  years 
of  sleeping  under  doubtful  boarding-house 
blankets  one  does  not  so  soon  get  rid  of  a  shud 
dering  disgust  for  coverings  which  are  haunted 
by  the  ghosts  of  a  hundred  unknown  sleepers. 
Those  years  had  taught  me  to  draw  up  the  sheet 
with  scrupulous  care,  to  turn  it  down,  and 
smooth  it  over,  so  that  no  contaminating  and 
woolly  blanket  should  touch  my  skin.  The 
habit  stuck  even  after  Norah  had  tucked  me  in 
between  her  fragrant  sheets.  Automatically  my 
hands  groped  about,  arranging  the  old  protect 
ing  barrier. 

"What's  the  matter,  Fuss-fuss?"  inquired 
Norah,  looking  on.  "  That  down  quilt  won't 
bite  you;  what  an  old  maid  you  are!  " 

"  Don't  like  blankets  next  to  my  face,"  I  elu 
cidated,  sleepily,  "  never  can  tell  who  slept  un 
der  'em  last  — " 

"  You  eat!  "  exclaimed  Norah,  making  a  lit- 
[14] 


MOSTLY  EGGS 

tie  rush  at  me.  "  If  you  weren't  supposed  to  be 
ill  I'd  shake  you !  Comparing  my  darling  rose 
bud  quilt  to  your  miserable  gray  blankets !  Just 
for  that  I'll  make  you  eat  an  extra  pair  of  eggs." 

There  never  was  a  sister  like  Norah.  But 
then,  who  ever  heard  of  a  brother-in-law  like 
Max?  No  woman  —  not  even  a  frazzled-out 
newspaper  woman  —  could  receive  the  love  and 
care  that  they  gave  me,  and  fail  to  flourish  un 
der  it.  They  had  been  Dad  and  Mother  to  me 
since  the  day  when  Norah  had  tucked  me  under 
her  arm  and  carried  me  away  from  New  York. 
Sis  was  an  angel;  a  comforting,  twentieth-cen 
tury  angel,  with  white  apron  strings  for  wings, 
and  a  tempting  tray  in  her  hands  in  place  of  the 
hymn  books  and  palm  leaves  that  the  picture- 
book  angels  carry.  She  coaxed  the  inevitable 
eggs  and  beef  into  more  tempting  forms  than 
Mrs.  Rorer  ever  guessed  at.  She  could  dis 
guise  those  two  plain,  nourishing  articles  of  diet 
so  effectually  that  neither  hen  nor  cow  would 
have  suspected  either  of  having  once  been  part 
of  her  anatomy.  Once  I  ate  halfway  through 
a  melting,  fluffy,  peach-bedecked  plate  of  some 
thing  before  I  discovered  that  it  was  only  an 
other  egg  in  disguise. 

"  Feel  like  eating  a  great  big  dinner  to-day, 
Kidlet?"  Norah  would  ask  in  the  morning  as 
[151 


DAWN  O'HARA 

she  stood  at  my  bedside  (with  a  glass  of  egg- 
something  in  her  hand,  of  course). 

"Eat!" — horror  and  disgust  shuddering 
through  my  voice — "Eat!  Ugh!  Don't 
s-s-speak  of  it  to  me.  And  for  pity's  sake  tell 
Frieda  to  shut  the  kitchen  door  when  you  go 
down,  will  you  ?  I  can  smell  something  like  — 
ugh !  —  like  pot  roast,  with  gravy !  "  And  1 
would  turn  my  face  to  the  wall. 

Three  hours  later  I  would  hear  Sis  coming 
softly  up  the  stairs,  accompanied  by  a  tinkling  of 
china  and  glass.  I  would  face  her,  all  protest. 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you,  Sis,  that  I  couldn't  eat 
a  mouthful?  Not  a  mouthf  —  um-m-m-ml 
How  perfectly  scrumptious  that  looks !  What's 
that  affair  in  the  lettuce  leaf?  Oh,  can't  I  be 
gin  on  that  divine-looking  pinky  stuff  in  the  tall 
glass?  H'm?  Oh,  please!" 

"I  thought — "  Norah  would  begin;  and 
then  she  would  snigger  softly. 

"  Oh,  well,  that  was  hours  ago,"  I  would 
explain,  loftily.  "  Perhaps  I  could  manage  a 
bite  or  two  now." 

Whereupon  I  would  demolish  everything  ex 
cept  the  china  and  doilies. 

It  was  at  this  point  on  the  road  to  recovery, 
just  halfway  between  illness  and  health,  that 
Norah  and  Max  brought  the  great  and  unsmil- 
[16] 


MOSTLY  EGGS 

ing  Von  Gerhard  on  the  scene.  It  appeared 
that  even  New  York  was  respectfully  aware  of 
Von  Gerhard,  the  nerve  specialist,  in  spite  of 
!the  fact  that  he  lived  in  Milwaukee.  The  idea 
of  bringing  him  up  to  look  at  me  occurred  to 
Max  quite  suddenly.  I  think  it  was  on  the 
evening  that  I  burst  into  tears  when  Max  en 
tered  the  room  wearing  a  squeaky  shoe.  The 
Weeping  Walrus  was  a  self-contained  and  tran 
quil  creature  compared  to  me  at  that  time. 
The  sight  of  a  fly  on  the  wall  was  enough  to 
make  me  burst  into  a  passion  of  sobs. 

"  I  know  the  boy  to  steady  those  shaky  nerves 
of  yours,  Dawn,"  said  Max,  after  I  had  made 
a  shamefaced  apology  for  my  hysterical  weep 
ing,  "  I'm  going  to  have  Von  Gerhard  up  here 
to  look  at  you.  He  can  run  up  Sunday,  eh,  No- 
rah?" 

"Who's  Von  Gerhard?  "  I  inquired,  out  of 
the  depths  of  my  ignorance.  "  Anyway,  I 
won't  have  him.  I'll  bet  he  wears  a  Vandyke 
and  spectacles." 

*  "  Von  Gerhard !  "  exclaimed  Norah,  indig 
nantly.  "  You  ought  to  be  thankful  to  have 
him  look  at  you,  even  if  he  wears  goggles  and  a 
flowing  beard.  Why,  even  that  red-haired  New 
York  doctor  of  yours  cringed  and  looked  im 
pressed  when  I  told  him  that  Von  Gerhard  was 


DAWN  O'HARA 

a  friend  of  my  husband's,  and  that  they  had 
been  comrades  at  Heidelberg.  I  must  have 
mentioned  him  dozens  of  times  in  my  letters." 

"  Never." 

"  Queer,"  commented  Max,  "  he  runs  up 
here  every  now  and  then  to  spend  a  quiet  Sun 
day  with  Norah  and  me  and  the  Spalpeens. 
Says  it  rests  him.  The  kids  swarm  all  over 
him,  and  tear  him  limb  from  limb.  It  doesn't 
look  restful,  but  he  says  it's  great.  I  think  he 
came  here  from  Berlin  just  after  you  left  for 
New  York,  Dawn.  Milwaukee  fits  him  as  if  it 
had  been  made  for  him." 

"  But  you're  not  going  to  drag  this  wonder 
ful  being  up  here  just  for  me!  "  I  protested, 
aghast. 

Max  pointed  an  accusing  finger  at  me  from 
the  doorway.  "  Aren't  you  what  the  bromides 
call  a  bundle  of  nerves?  And  isn't  Von  Ger 
hard's  specialty  untying  just  those  knots?  I'll 
write  to  him  to-night." 

And  he  did.  And  Von  Gerhard  came.  The 
Spalpeens  watched  for  him,  their  noses  flattened 
against  the  window-pane,  for  it  was  raining. 
As  he  came  up  the  path  they  burst  out  of  the 
door  to  meet  him.  From  my  bedroom  window 
I  saw  him  come  prancing  up  the  walk  like  a  boy, 
with  the  two  children  clinging  to  his  coat-tails, 
[18] 


MOSTLY  EGGS 

all  three  quite  unmindful  of  the  rain,  and  yelling 
like  Comanches. 

Ten  minutes  later  he  had  donned  his  profes 
sional  dignity,  entered  my  room,  and  beheld  me 
in  all  my  limp  and  pea-green  beauty.  I  noted 
approvingly  that  he  had  to  stoop  a  bit  as  he  en 
tered  the  low  doorway,  and  that  the  Vandyke 
of  my  prophecy  was  missing. 

He  took  my  hand  in  his  own  steady,  reassur 
ing  clasp.  Then  he  began  to  talk.  Half  an 
hour  sped  away  while  we  discussed  New  York 
-. —  books  —  music  —  theatres  • —  everything  and 
anything  but  Dawn  O'Hara.  I  learned  later 
that  as  we  chatted  he  was  getting  his  story,  bit 
by  bit,  from  every  twitch  of  the  eyelids,  from 
every  gesture  of  the  hands  that  had  grown  too 
thin  to  wear  the  hateful  ring;  from  every  mo 
tion  of  the  lips;  from  the  color  of  my  nails; 
from  each  convulsive  muscle;  from  every 
shadow,  and  wrinkle  and  curve  and  line  of  my 
face. 

Suddenly  he  asked :  "  Are  you  making  the 
proper  effort  to  get  well?  You  try  to  conquer 
those  jumping  nerfs,  yes?  " 

I  glared  at  him.  "Try!  I  do  everything. 
I'd  eat  woolly  worms  if  I  thought  they  might 
benefit  me.  If  ever  a  girl  has  minded  her  big 
sister  and  her  doctor,  that  girl  is  I.  I've  eaten 


DAWN  O'HARA 

<*verything  from  pate  de  fo'ie  gras  to  raw  beeff 
and  I've  drunk  everything  from  blood  to  cham 
pagne." 

"Eggs?"  queried  Von  Gerhard,  as  though 
making  a  happy  suggestion. 

"Eggs!"  I  snorted.  "Eggs!  Thousands 
of  'em!  Eggs  hard  and  soft  boiled,  poached 
and  fried,  scrambled  and  shirred,  eggs  in  beer 
and  egg-noggs,  egg  lemonades  and  egg  orange 
ades,  eggs  in  wine  and  eggs  in  milk,  and  eggs 
au  nature!.  I've  lapped  up  iron-and-wine,  and 
whole  rivers  of  milk,  and  I've  devoured  rare 
porterhouse  and  roast  beef  day  after  day  for 
weeks.  So !  Eggs !  " 

"  Mem  Himmel! "  ejaculated  he,  fervently, 
"  And  you  still  live !  "  A  suspicion  of  a  smile 
dawned  in  his  eyes.  I  wondered  if  he  ever 
laughed.  I  would  experiment. 

"  Don't  breathe  it  to  a  soul,"  I  whispered, 
tragically,  "  but  eggs,  and  eggs  alone,  are  turn 
ing  my  love  for  my  sister  into  bitterest  hate. 
She  stalks  me  the  whole  day  long,  forcing  egg 
mixtures  down  my  unwilling  throat.  She  bul 
lies  me.  I  daren't  put  out  my  hand  suddenly 
without  knocking  over  liquid  refreshment  in 
some  form,  but  certainly  with  an  egg  lurking  in 
its  depths.  I  am  so  expert  that  I  can  tell  an 
egg  orangeade  from  an  egg  lemonade  at  a  dis- 

[20] 


MOSTLY  EGGS 

tance  of  twenty  yards,  with  my  left  hand  tied  be 
hind  me,  and  one  eye  shut,  and  my  feet  in  a 
sack." 

"  You  can  laugh,  eh?  Well,  that  iss  good," 
commented  the  grave  and  unsmiling  one. 

"  Sure,"  answered  I,  made  more  flippant  by 
his  solemnity.  "  Surely  I  can  laugh.  For 
what  else  was  my  father  Irish?  Dad  used  to 
say  that  a  sense  of  humor  was  like  a  shillaly  — 
an  iligent  thing  to  have  around  handy,  espe 
cially  when  the  joke's  on  you." 

The  ghost  of  a  twinkle  appeared  again  in  the 
corners  of  the  German  blue  eyes.  Some  fiend 
of  rudeness  seized  me. 

"  Laugh !  "  I  commanded. 

Dr.  Ernst  von  Gerhard  stiffened.  "  Par 
don?  "  inquired  he,  as  one  who  is  sure  that  he 
has  misunderstood. 

"  Laugh !  "  I  snapped  again.  "  I'll  dare  you 
to  do  it.  I'll  double  dare  you!  You  das- 
sen't!"' 

But  he  did.  After  a  moment's  bewildered 
surprise  he  threw  back  his  handsome  blond  head 
and  gave  vent  to  a  great,  deep  infectious  roar  of 
mirth  that  brought  the  Spalpeens  tumbling  up 
the  stairs  In  defiance  of  their  mother's  strict  in 
structions. 

After  that   we   got   along  beautifully.     He 

[21] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

turned  out  to  be  quite  human,  beneath  the  outer 
crust  of  reserve.  He  continued  his  examination 
only  after  bribing  the  Spalpeens  shamefully,  so 
that  even  their  rapacious  demands  were  satis 
fied,  and  they  trotted  off  contentedly. 

There  followed  a  process  which  reduced  me 
to  a  giggling  heap  but  which  Von  Gerhard  car 
ried  out  ceremoniously.  It  consisted  of  certain 
raps  at  my  knees,  and  shins,  and  elbows,  and 
fingers,  and  certain  commands  to  — "  look  at 
my  finger !  Look  at  the  wall !  Look  at  my 
finger !  Look  at  the  wall !  " 

;t  So !  "  said  Von  Gerhard  at  last,  in  a  tone  of 
finality.  I  sank  my  battered  frame  into  the 
nearest  chair.  "  This  —  this  newspaper  work 
—  it  must  cease."  He  dismissed  it  with  a  wave 
of  the  hand. 

"  Certainly,"  I  said,  with  elaborate  sarcasm. 
"  How  should  you  advise  me  to  earn  my  living 
in  the  future?  In  the  stories  they  paint  dinner 
cards,  don't  they?  or  bake  angel  cakes?  " 

"  Are  you  then  never  serious?"  asked  Von 
Gerhard,  in  disapproval. 

"  Never,"     said     I.     "  An     old,     worn-out, 

worked-out  newspaper  reporter,  with  a  husband 

in  the  mad-house,  can't  afford  to  be  serious  for  a 

minute,  because  if  she  were  she'd  go  mad,  too, 

[22] 


MOSTLY  EGGS 

with  the  hopelessness  of  it  all."  And  I  buried 
my  face  in  my  hands. 

The  room  was  very  still  for  a  moment. 
Then  the  great  Von  Gerhard  came  over,  and; 
took  my  hands  gently  from  my  face.  "  I  —  I> 
do  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said.  He  looked 
strangely  boyish  and  uncomfortable  as  he  said 
it.  "  I  was  thinking  only  of  your  good.  We 
do  that,  sometimes,  forgetting  that  circum 
stances  may  make  our  wishes  impossible  of  exe 
cution.  So.  You  will  forgive  me?  " 

"  Forgive  you?  Yes,  indeed,"  I  assured  him. 
And  we  shook  hands,  gravely.  "  But  that 
doesn't  help  matters  much,  after  all,  does  it?  " 

"  Yes,  it  helps.  For  now  we  understand  one 
another,  is  it  not  so?  You  say  you  can  only 
write  for  a  living.  Then  why  not  write  here 
at  home?  Surely  these  years  of  newspaper 
work  have  given  you  a  great  knowledge  of  hu 
man  nature.  Then  too,  there  is  your  gift  of 
humor,  Surely  that  is  a  combination  which 
should  make  your  work  acceptable  to  the  maga 
zines.  Never  in  my  life  have  I  seen  so  many 
magazines  as  here  in  the  United  States.  But 
hundreds  !  Thousands  !  " 

"Me!"  I  exploded— "  A  real  writer  lady! 
No  more  interviews  with  actresses !  No  more 


DAWN  O'HARA 

slushy  Sunday  specials!  No  more  teary  tales! 
Oh,  my!  When  may  I  begin?  To-morrow? 
You  know  I  brought  my  typewriter  with  me. 
I've  almost  forgotten  where  the  letters  are  on 
the  keyboard." 

"  Wait,  wait ;  not  so  fast !  In  a  month  or 
two,  perhaps.  But  first  must  come  other  things 
• —  outdoor  things.  Also  housework." 

"  Housework!  "  I  echoed,  feebly. 

"  Natiirlich.  A  little  dusting,  a  little  scrub 
bing,  a  little  sweeping,  a  little  cooking.  The 
finest  kind  of  indoor  exercise.  Later  you  may 
write  a  little  —  but  very  little.  Run  and  play 
out  of  doors  with  the  children.  When  I  see 
you  again  you  will  have  roses  in  your  cheeks  like 
the  German  girls,  yes?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  echoed,  meekly,  "  I  wonder  how 
Frieda  will  like  my  elephantine  efforts  at  assist 
ing  with  the  housework.  If  she  gives  notice, 
Norah  will  be  lost  to  you." 

But  Frieda  did  not  give  notice.  After  I  had 
helped  her  clean  the  kitchen  and  the  pantry  I  no 
ticed  an  expression  of  deepest  pity  overspread 
ing  her  lumpy  features.  The  expression  be 
came  almost  one  of  agony  as  she  watched  me 
roll  out  some  noodles  for  soup,  and  delve  into 
the  sticky  mysteries  of  a  new  kind  of  cake. 

Max  says  that  for  a  poor  working  girl  who 
[24] 


MOSTLY  EGGS 

hasn't  had  time  to  cultivate  the  domestic  graces, 
my  cakes  are  a  distinct  triumph.  Sis  sniffs  at 
that,  and  mutters  something  about  cups  of 
raisins  and  nuts  and  citron  hiding  a  multitude  or 
batter  sins.  She  never  allows  the  Spalpeens  to 
eat  my  cakes,  and  on  my  baking  days  they  are 
usually  sent  from  the  table  howling.  Norah  de 
clares,  severely,  that  she  is  going  to  hide  the 
Green  Cook  Book.  The  Green  Cook  Book  is 
a  German  one.  Norah  bought  it  in  deference 
to  Max's  love  of  German  cookery.  It  is  called 
Aunt  Julchen 's  cook  book,  and  the  author,  be 
tween  hints  as  to  flour  and  butter,  gets  delight 
fully  chummy  with  her  pupil.  Her  cakes  are 
proud,  rich  cakes.  She  orders  grandly: 

"Now  throw  in  the  yolks  of  twelve  eggs; 
one- fourth  of  a  pound  of  almonds ;  two  pounds 
of  raisins;  a  pound  of  citron;  a  pound  of  orange- 
peel." 

As  if  that  were  not  enough,  there  follow 
minor  instructions  as  to  trifles  like  ounces  of  wal 
nut  meats,  pounds  of  confectioner's  sugar,  and 
pints  of  very  rich  cream.  When  cold,  to  be 
frosted  with  an  icing  made  up  of  more  eggs, 
more  nuts,  more  cream,  more  everything. 

The  children  have  appointed  themselves  offi 
cial  lickers  and  scrapers  of  the  spoons  and  icing 
pans,  also  official  guides  on  their  auntie's  walks. 

[25] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

[They  regard  their  Aunt  Dawn  as  a  quite  ridicu 
lous  but  altogether  delightful  old  thing. 

And  Norah  —  bless  her !  looks  up  when  I 
come  in  from  a  romp  with  the  Spalpeens  and 
says:  "Your  cheeks  are  pink!  Actually! 
And  you're  losing  a  puff  there  at  the  back  of 
your  ear,  and  your  hat's  on  crooked.  Oh,  you 
are  beginning  to  look  your  old  self,  Dawn 
dear!" 

At  which  doubtful  compliment  I  retort,  reck 
lessly  :  "  Pooh !  .What's  a  puff  more  or  less,  in 
a  worthy  cause?  And  if  you  think  my  cheeks 
are  pink  now,  just  wait  until  your  mighty  Von 
Gerhard  comes  again.  By  that  time  they  shall 
be  so  red  and  bursting  that  Frieda's,  on  wash 
day,  will  look  anemic  by  comparison.  Say, 
Norah,  how  red  are  German  red  cheeks,  any 
way?" 


CHAPTER  III 

GOOD   AS    NEW 

OO  Spring  danced  away,  and  Summer  saun- 
^  tered  in.  My  pillows  looked  less  and  less 
tempting.  The  wine  of  the  northern  air  im 
parted  a  cocky  assurance.  One  blue-and-gold 
day  followed  the  other,  and  I  spent  hours  to 
gether  out  of  doors  in  the  sunshine,  lying  full 
length  on  the  warm,  sweet  ground,  to  the  horror 
of  the  entire  neighborhood.  To  be  sure,  I 
was  sufficiently  discreet  to  choose  the  lawn  at 
the  rear  of  the  house.  There  I  drank  in  the 
atmosphere,  as  per  doctor's  instructions,  while 
the  genial  sun  warmed  the  watery  blood  in  my 
veins  and  burned  the  skin  off  the  end  of  my  nose. 
All  my  life  I  had  envied  the  loungers  in  the 
parks  —  those  silent,  inert  figures  that  lie  under 
the  trees  all  the  long  summer  day,  their  shabby 
hats  over  their  faces,  their  hands  clasped  above 
their  heads,  legs  sprawled  in  uncouth  comfort, 
while  the  sun  dapples  down  between  the  leaves 
and,  like  a  good  fairy  godmother,  touches  their 
frayed  and  wrinkled  garments  with  flickering 
[27] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

figures  of  golden  splendor,  while  they  sleep. 
They  always  seemed  so  blissfully  care-free  and 
at  ease  —  those  sprawling  men  figures  —  and  I, 
to  whom  such  simple  joys  were  forbidden,  being 
a  woman,  had  envied  them. 

Now  I  was  reveling  in  that  very  joy, 
stretched  prone  upon  the  ground,  blinking  sleep 
ily  up  at  the  sun  and  the  cobalt  sky,  feeling  my 
very  hair  grow,  and  health  returning  in  warm, 
electric  waves.  I  even  dared  to  cross  one  leg 
over  the  other  and  to  swing  the  pendant  member 
with  nonchalant  air,  first  taking  a  cautious  survey 
of  the  neighboring  back  windows  to  see  if  any 
one  peeked.  Doubtless  they  did,  behind  those 
ruffled  curtains,  but  I  grew  splendidly  indifferent. 

Even  the  crawling  things  —  and  there  were 
myriads  of  them  —  added  to  the  enjoyment  of 
my  ease.  With  my  ear  so  close  to  the  ground 
the  grass  seemed  fairly  to  buzz  with  them. 
Everywhere  there  were  crazily  busy  ants,  and  I, 
patently  a  sluggard  and  therefore  one  of  those 
for  whom  the  ancient  warning  was  intended, 
considered  them  lazily.  How  they  plunged 
about,  weaving  in  and  out,  rushing  here  and 
there,  helter-skelter,  like  bargain-hunting  women 
darting  wildly  from  counter  to  counter ! 

"  O,  foolish,  foolish  anties!"  I  chided 
them,  "  stop  wearing  yourselves  out  this  way. 

[28] 


GOOD  AS  NEW 

Don't  you  know  that  the  game  isn't  worth  the 
candle,  and  that  you'll  give  yourselves  nervous 
jim-jams  and  then  you'll  have  to  go  home  to  be 
patched  up  ?  Look  at  me  I  I'm  a  horrible  ex 
ample." 

But  they  only  bustled  on,  heedless  of  my  ad 
vice,  and  showed  their  contempt  by  crawling 
over  me  as  I  lay  there  like  a  lady  Gulliver. 

Oh,  I  played  what  they  call  a  heavy  think 
ing  part.  It  was  not  only  the  ants  that  came 
in  for  lectures.  I  preached  sternly  to  myself. 

"  Well,  Dawn  old  girl,  you've  made  a  beauti 
ful  mess  of  it.  A  smashed-up  wreck  at  twenty- 
eight!  And  what  have  you  to  show  for  it? 
Nothing!  You're  a  useless  pulp,  like  a  lemon 
that  has  been  squeezed  dry.  Von  Gerhard  was 
right.  There  must  be  no  more  newspaper  work 
for  you,  me  girl.  Not  if  you  can  keep  away 
from  the  fascination  of  it,  which  I  don't  think 
you  can." 

Then  I  would  fall  to  thinking  of  those  years 
of  newspapering  —  of  the  thrills  of  them,  and 
the  ills  of  them.  It  had  been  exhilarating,  and 
educating,  but  scarcely  remunerative.  Mother 
had  never  approved.  Dad  had  chuckled  and 
said  that  it  was  a  curse  descended  upon  me  from 
the  terrible  old  Kitty  O'Hara,  the  only  old  maid 
in  the  history  of  the  O'Haras,  and  famed  in  her 

[29] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

day  for  a  caustic  tongue  and  a  venomed  pen* 
Dad  and  Mother  —  what  a  pair  of  children 
they  had  been !  The  very  dissimilarity  of  their 
natures  had  been  a  bond  between  them.  Dad, 
light-hearted,  whimsical,  care-free,  improvident; 
Mother,  gravely  sweet,  anxious-browed,  trying 
to  teach  economy  to  the  handsome  Irish  husband 
who,  descendant  of  a  long  and  royal  line  of 
spendthrift  ancestors,  would  have  none  of  it. 

It  was  Dad  who  had  insisted  that  they  name 
me  Dawn.  Dawn  O'Hara!  His  sense  of 
humor  must  have  been  sleeping.  "  You  were 
such  a  rosy,  pinky,  soft  baby  thing,"  Mother 
had  once  told  me,  "  that  you  looked  just  like  the 
first  flush  of  .light  at  sunrise.  That  is  why  your 
father  insisted  on  calling  you  Dawn." 

Poor  Dad!  How  could  he  know  that  at 
twenty-eight  I  would  be  a  yellow  wreck  of  a 
newspaper  reporter  —  with  a  wrinkle  between 
my  eyes.  If  he  could  see  me  now  he  would 
say: 

"  Sure,  you  look  like  the  dawn  yet,  me  girl  — 
(but  a  Pittsburgh  dawn." 

)!  At  that,  Mother,  if  she  were  here,  would  pat 
my  cheek  where  the  hollow  place  is,  and  mur 
mur:  "Never  mind,  Dawnie  dearie,  Mother 
thinks  you  are  beautiful  just  the  same."  Of 
such  blessed  stuff  are  mothers  made. 

[30] 


GOOD  AS  NEW 

At  this  stage  of  the  memory  game  I  would 
bury  my  face  in  the  warm  grass  and  thank  my 
God  for  having  taken  Mother  before  Peter 
Orme  came  into  my  life.  And  then  I  would  fall 
asleep  there  on  the  soft,  sweet  grass,  with  my 
head  snuggled  in  my  arms,  and  the  ants  wrig 
gling,  unchided,  into  my  ears. 

On  the  last  of  these  sylvan  occasions  I  awoke, 
not  with  a  graceful  start,  like  the  story-book 
ladies,  but  with  a  grunt.  Sis  was  digging  me 
in  the  ribs  with  her  toe.  I  looked  up  to  see  her 
standing  over  me,  a  foaming  tumbler  of  some 
thing  in  her  hand.  I  felt  that  it  was  eggy  and 
eyed  it  disgustedly. 

"  Get  up,"  said  she,  "  you  lazy  scribbler,  and 
drink  this." 

I  sat  up,  eyeing  her  severely  and  picking  grass 
and  ants  out  of  my  hair. 

"  D'  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  woke  me 
out  of  that  babe-like  slumber  to  make  me  drink 
that  goo?  What  is  it,  anyway?  I'll  bet  it's 
another  egg-nogg." 

I      "  Egg-nogg  it  is ;  and  swallow  it  right  away, 
•because  there  are  guests  to  see  you." 

I  emerged  from  the  first  dip  into  the  yellow 
mixture  and  fixed  on  her  as  stern  and  terribk  a 
look  at  any  one  can  whose  mouth  is  encircled  by 
a  mustache  of  yellow  foam. 

[31] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

"Guests!"  I  roared,  "not  for  me!  Don't 
you  dare  to  say  that  they  came  to  see  me !  " 

"  Did  too,"  insists  Norah,  with  firmness, 
"  they  came  especially  to  see  you.  Asked  for 
you,  right  from  the  jump." 

I  finished  the  egg-nogg  in  four  gulps,  returned 
the  empty  tumbler  with  an  air  of  decision,  and 
sank  upon  the  grass. 

"Tell  'em  I  rave.  Tell  'em  that  I'm  un 
conscious,  and  that  for  weeks  I  have  recognized 
no  one,  not  even  my  dear  sister.  Say  that  in  my 
present  nerve-shattered  condition  I  — " 

"  That  wouldn't  satisfy  them,"  Norah  calmly 
interrupts,"  they  know  you're  crazy  because  they 
saw  you  out  here  from  their  second  story  back 
windows.  That's  why  they  came.  So  you  may 
as  well  get  up  and  face  them.  I  promised  them 
I'd  bring  you  in.  You  can't  go  on  forever  re 
fusing  to  see  people,  and  you  know  the  Whalens 
are  — " 

"Whalens!"  I  gasped.  "How  many  of 
them?  Not  —  not  the  entire  fiendish  three?" 

"  All  three.  I  left  them  champing  with  im 
patience." 

The  Whalens  live  just  around  the  corner. 
The  Whalens  are  omniscient.  They  have  a 
system  of  news  gathering  which  would  make  the 
efforts  of  a  New  York  daily  appear  antiquated. 


GOOD  AS  NEW 

They  know  that  Jenny  Laffin  feeds  the  family 
on  soup  meat  and  oat-meal  when  Mr.  Laffin 
is  on  the  road;  they  know  that  Mrs.  Pearson 
only  shakes  out  her  rugs  once  in  four  weeks; 
they  can  tell  you  the  number  of  times  a  week  that 
Sam  Dempster  comes  home  drunk;  they  know 
that  the  Merkles  never  have  cream  with  their 
coffee  because  little  Lizzie  Merkle  goes  to  the 
creamery  every  day  with  just  one  pail  and  three 
cents;  they  gloat  over  the  knowledge  that  Pro 
fessor  Grimes,  who  is  a  married  man,  is  sweet 
on  Gertie  Ashe,  who  teaches  second  reader  in  his 
school;  they  can  tell  you  where  Mrs.  Black  got 
her  seal  coat,  and  her  husband  only  earning  two 
thousand  a  year ;  they  know  who  is  going  to  run 
for  mayor,  and  how  long  poor  Angela  Sims  has 
to  live,  and  what  Guy  Donnelly  said  to  Min 
when  he  asked  her  to  marry  him. 

The  three  Whalens  —  mother  and  daughters 
—  hunt  in  a  group.  They  send  meaning  glances 
to  one  another  across  the  room,  and  at  parties 
they  get  together  and  exchange  bulletins  in  a 
corner.  On  passing  the  Whalen  house  one  is 
uncomfortably  aware  of  shadowy  forms  lurking 
in  the  windows,  and  of  parlor  curtains  that  are 
agitated  for  no  apparent  cause. 

Therefore  it  was  with  a  groan  that  I  rose  and 
prepared  to  follow  Norah  into  the  house. 
[33] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

Something  in  my  eye  caused  her  to  turn  at  the 
very  door.  "Don't  you  dare!"  she  hissed; 
then,  banishing  the  warning  scowl  from  her  face, 
and  assuming  a  near-smile,  she  entered  the  room 
and  I  followed  miserably  at  her  heels. 

The  Whalens  rose  and  came  forward  effu 
sively;  Mrs.  Whalen,  plump,  dark,  voluble; 
Sally,  lean,  swarthy,  vindictive;  Flossie,  pudgy, 
powdered,  over-dressed.  They  eyed  me  hun 
grily.  I  felt  that  they  were  searching  my  fea 
tures  for  signs  of  incipient  insanity. 

"  Dear,  dear  girl!  "  bubbled  the  billowy  Flos 
sie,  kissing  the  end  of  my  nose  and  fastening 
her  eye  on  my  ringless  left  hand. 

Sally  contented  herself  with  a  limp  and  fishy 
handshake.  She  and  I  were  sworn  enemies  in 
our  school-girl  days,  and  a  baleful  gleam  still 
lurked  in  Sally's  eye.  Mrs.  Whalen  bestowed 
on  me  a  motherly  hug  that  enveloped  me  in  an 
atmosphere  of  liquid  face-wash,  strong  perfum 
ery  and  fried  lard.  Mrs.  Whalen  is  a  famous 
cook.  Said  she: 

"  We've  been  thinking  of  calling  ever  since' 
you  were  brought  home,  but  dear  me!  you've 
been  looking  so  poorly  I  just  said  to  the  girls, 
wait  till  the  poor  thing  feels  more  like  seeing 
her  old  friends.  Tell  me,  how  are  you  feeling 
now?" 

[34] 


GOOD  AS  NEW 

The  three  sat  forward  in  their  chairs  in  at 
titudes  of  tense  waiting. 

I  resolved  that  if  err  I  must  it  should  be  on 
the  side  of  safety.  I  turned  to  sister  Norah. 

"  How  am  I  feeling  anyway,  Norah  ?  "  I 
guardedly  inquired. 

Norah's  face  was  a  study.  "  Why  Dawn 
dear,"  she  said,  sugar-sweet,  "  no  doubt  you 
know  better  than  I.  But  I'm  sure  that  you 
are  wonderfully  improved  —  almost  your  old 
self,  in  fact.  Don't  you  think  she  looks  splen 
did,  Mrs.  Whalen?" 

The  three  Whalens  tore  their  gaze  from  my 
blank  countenance  to  exchange  a  series  of  mean 
ing  looks. 

"  I  suppose,"  purred  Mrs.  Whalen,  "  that 
your  awful  trouble  was  the  real  cause  of  your 
—  a-a-a-sickness,  worrying  about  it  and  grieving 
as  you  must  have." 

She  pronounces  it  with  a  capital  T,  and  I 
know  she  means  Peter.  I  hate  her  for  it. 

"Trouble!"  I  chirped.  "Trouble  never 
troubles  me.  I  just  worked  too  hard,  that's  all, 
and  acquired  an  awful  '  tired.'  All  work  and 
no  play  makes  Jill  a  nervous  wreck,  you  know." 

At  that  the  elephantine  Flossie  wagged  a 
playful  finger  at  me.  "  Oh,  now,  you  can't 
make  us  believe  that,  just  because  we're  from 

[35] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

the  country !  We  know  all  about  you  gay  New 
Yorkers,  with  your  Bohemian  ways  and  your 
midnight  studio  suppers,  and  your  cigarettes,  and 
cocktails  and  high  jinks !  " 

Memory  painted  a  swift  mental  picture  of 
Dawn  O'Hara  as  she  used  to  tumble  into  bed 
after  a  whirlwind  day  at  the  office,  too  dog-tired 
to  give  her  hair  even  one  half  of  the  prescribed 
one  hundred  strokes  of  the  brush.  But  in  turn 
I  shook  a  reproving  forefinger  at  Flossie. 

"  YouVe  been  reading  some  naughty  society 
novel!  One  of  those  millionaire-divorce-ac 
tress-automobile  novels.  Dear,  dear!  Shall  I 
ever  forget  the  first  New  York  actress  I  ever 
met;  or  what  she  said!  " 

I  felt,  more  than  saw,  a  warning  movement 
from  Sis.  But  the  three  Whalens  had  hitched 
forward  in  their  chairs. 

*  What  did  she  say?"  gurgled  Flossie. 
"  Was  it  something  real  reezk?  " 

"  Well,  it  was  at  a  late  supper  —  a  studio 
supper  given  in  her  honor,"  I  confessed. 

"  Yes-s-s-s  "  hissed  the  Whalens. 

"  And  this  actress  —  she  was  one  of  those* 
musical  comedy  actresses,  you  know;  I  remember 
her  part  called  for  a  good  deal  of  kicking  about 
in  a  short  Dutch  costume  —  came  in  rather  late, 
after  the  performance.  She  was  wearing  a 

[36] 


GOOD  AS  NEW 

regal-looking  fur-edged  evening  wrap,  and  she 
still  wore  all  her  make-up  " —  out  of  the  corner 
of  my  eye  I  saw  Sis  sink  back  with  an  air  of 
resignation  — "  and  she  threw  open  the  door  and 
said  — 

"  Yes-s-s-s !  "  hissed  the  Whalens  again,  wet 
ting  their  lips. 

"  —  said :  l  Folks,  I  just  had  a  wire  from 
mother,  up  in  Maine.  The  boy  has  the  croup. 
I'm  scared  green.  I  hate  to  spoil  the  party,  but 
don't  ask  me  to  stay.  I  want  to  go  home  to 
the  flat  and  blubber.  I  didn't  even  stop  to  take 
my  make-up  off.  My  God !  If  anything  should 
happen  to  the  boy! — Well,  have  a  good  time 
without  me.  Jirn's  waiting  outside.'  ' 

A  silence. 

Then — "Who  was  Jim?"  asked  Flossie, 
hopefully. 

"  Jim  was  her  husband,  of  course.  He  was 
in  the  same  company." 

Another  silence. 

"Is  that  all?"  demanded  Sally  from  the 
corner  in  which  she  had  been  glowering. 

"  All !  You  unnatural  girl !  Isn't  one  hus 
band  enough?  " 

Mrs.  Whalen  smiled  an  uncertain,  wavering 
smile.  There  passed  among  the  three  a  series 
of  cabalistic  signs.  They  rose  simultaneously. 
[37] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

"  How  quaint  you  are !  "  exclaimed  Mrs* 
Whalen,  "and  so  amusing!  Come  girls,  we 
mustn't  tire  Miss  —  ah  —  Mrs.  —  er — "  with 
another  meaning  look  at  my  bare  left  hand. 

"  My  husband's  name  is  still  Orme,"  I 
prompted,  quite,  quite  pleasantly. 

"  Oh,  certainly.  I'm  so  forgetful.  And  one 
reads  such  queer  things  in  the  newspapers  now- 
a-days.  Divorces,  and  separations,  and  soul- 
mates  and  things."  There  was  a  note  of 
gentle  insinuation  in  her  voice. 

Norah  stepped  firmly  into  the  fray.  "  Yes, 
doesn't  one  ?  What  a  comfort  it  must  be  to  you 
to  know  that  your  dear  girls  are  safe  at  home 
with  you,  and  no  doubt  will  be  secure,  for  years 
to  come,  from  the  buffeting  winds  of  matri 
mony." 

There  was  a  tinge  of  purple  in  Mrs.  Whalen's 
face  as  she  moved  toward  the  door,  gathering 
her  brood  about  her.  "  Now  that  dear  Dawn  is 
almost  normal  again  I  shall  send  my  little  girlies 
over  real  often.  She  must  find  it  very  dull  here 
after  her  —  ah  —  life  in  New  York." 

"  Not  at  all,"  I  said,  hurriedly,  "  not  at  all. 
You  see  I'm  —  I'm  writing  a  book.  My  entire 
day  is  occupied." 

"  A  book!  "  screeched  the  three,  "  How  in- 
[38] 


GOOD  AS  NEW 

teresting!  What  is  it?  When  will  it  be  pub 
lished?" 

I  avoided  Norah's  baleful  eye  as  I  answered 
their  questions  and  performed  the  final  adieux. 

As  the  door  closed,  Norah  and  I  faced  each 
other,  glaring. 

"  Hussies !  "  hissed  Norah.  Whereupon  it 
struck  us  funny  and  we  fell,  a  shrieking  heap, 
into  the  nearest  chair.  Finally  Sis  dabbed  at 
her  eyes  with  her  handkerchief,  drew  a  long 
breath,  and  asked,  with  elaborate  sarcasm,  why 
I  hadn't  made  it  a  play  instead  of  a  book,  while 
I  was  about  it. 

"  But  I  mean  it,"  I  declared.  "  I've  had 
enough  of  loafing.  Max  must  unpack  my  type 
writer  to-night.  I'm  homesick  for  a  look  at  the 
keys.  And  to-morrow  I'm  to  be  installed  in  the 
cubby-hole  off  the  dining-room  and  I  defy  any 
one  to  enter  it  on  peril  of  their  lives.  If  you 
value  the  lives  of  your  offspring,  warn  them 
away  from  that  door.  Von  Gerhard  said  that 
there  was  writing  in  my  system,  and  by  the  Great 
Horn  Spoon  and  the  Beard  of  the  Prophet,  I'll 
have  it  out!  Besides,  I  need  the  money. 
Norah  dear,  how  does  one  set  about  writing  a 
book?  It  seems  like  such  a  large  order." 

[39] 


CHAPTER  IV 

DAWN   DEVELOPS   A    HEIMWEH 

TT'S  hard  trying  to  develop  into  a  real  Writer 
*•  Lady  in  the  bosom  of  one's  family,  especially 
when  the  family  refuses  to  take  one  seriously. 
Seven  years  of  newspaper  grind  have  taught  me 
the  fallacy  of  trying  to  write  by  the  inspiration 
method.  But  there  is  such  a  thing  as  a  train 
of  thought,  and  mine  is  constantly  being  de 
railed,  and  wrecked  and  pitched  about. 

Scarcely  am  I  settled  in  my  cubby-hole,  type 
writer  before  me,  the  working  plan  of  a  story 
buzzing  about  in  my  brain,  when  I  hear  my  name 
called  in  muffled  tones,  as  though  the  speaker 
were  laboring  with  a  mouthful  of  hairpins.  I 
pay  no  attention.  I  have  just  given  my  heroine 
a  pair  of  calm  gray  eyes,  shaded  with  black 
lashes  and  hair  to  match.  A  voice  floats  down 
from  the  upstairs  regions. 

"  Dawn !  Oh,  Dawn !  Just  run  and  rescue 
the  cucumbers  out  of  the  top  of  the  ice-box,  will 
you?  The  iceman's  coming,  and  he'll  squash 


'em." 


[40] 


DAWN  DEVELOPS  A  HEIMWEH 

A  parting  jab  at  my  heroine's  hair  and  eyes,, 
and  I'm  off  to  save  the  cucumbers. 

Back  at  my  typewriter  once  more.  Shall  I 
make  my  heroine  petite  or  grandef  I  decide, 
that  stateliness  and  Gibsonesque  height  should 
accompany  the  calm  gray  eyes.  I  rattle  away 
happily,  the  plot  unfolding  itself  in  some  mys 
terious  way.  Sis  opens  the  door  a  little  and 
peers  in.  She  is  dressed  for  the  street. 

"  Dawn  dear,  I'm  going  to  the  dressmaker's.. 
Frieda's  upstairs  cleaning  the  bathroom,  so  take 
a  little  squint  at  the  roast  now  and  then,  will 
you?  See  that  it  doesn't  burn,  and  that  there's 
plenty  of  gravy.  Oh,  and  Dawn  —  tell  the 
milkman  we  want  an  extra  half-pint  of  cream 
to-day.  The  tickets  are  on  the  kitchen  shelf,, 
back  of  the  clock.  I'll  be  back  in  an  hour." 

"  Mhmph,"  I  reply. 

Sis  shuts  the  door,  but  opens  it  again  almost 
immediately.  i 

"  Don't  let  the  Infants  bother  you.  But  if 
Frieda's  upstairs  and  they  come  to  you  for  some 
thing  to  eat,  don't  let  them  have  any  cookies 
before  dinner.  If  they're  really  hungry  they'll 
eat  bread  and  butter." 

I  promise,  dreamily,  my  last  typewritten  sen 
tence  still  running  through  my  head.  The  gravy 
seems  to  have  got  into  the  heroine's  calm  gray 

[41] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

eyes.  What  heroine  could  remain  calm-eyed 
when  her  creator's  mind  is  filled  with  roast  beef? 
A  half-hour  elapses  before  I  get  back  on  the 
track.  Then  appears  the  hero  —  a  tall  blond 
youth,  fair  to  behold.  I  make  him  two  yards 
high,  and  endow  him  with  a  pair  of  clothing- 
advertisement  shoulders. 

There  assails  my  nostrils  a  fearful  smell  of 
scorching.  The  roast!  A  wild  rush  into  the 
kitchen.  I  fling  open  the  oven  door.  The 
roast  is  mahogany-colored,  and  gravyless.  It 
takes  fifteen  minutes  of  the  most  desperate  first- 
aid-to-the-injured  measures  before  the  roast  is 
revived. 

Back  to  the  writing.  It  has  lost  its  charm. 
The  gray-eyed  heroine  is  a  stick;  she  moves  lik<? 
an  Indian  lady  outside  a  cigar  shop.  The  hero 
is  a  milk-and-water  sissy,  without  a  vital  spark 
in  him.  What's  the  use  of  trying  to  write,  any 
way?  Nobody  wants  my  stuff.  Good  for 
nothing  except  dubbing  on  a  newspaper ! 

Rap !  Rap  !  Rappity-rap-rap  !  Bing  I  Milk ! 

I  dash  into  the  kitchen.  No  milk!  No 
milkman  I  I  fly  to  the  door.  He  is  disappear 
ing  around  the  corner  of  the  house. 

"  Hi !  Mr.  Milkman !  Say,  Mr.  Milkman !  " 
with  frantic  beckonings. 

He   turns.     He   lifts  up   his   voice.     "  The 

[42] 


DAWN  DEVELOPS  A  HEIMWEH 

screen  door  was  locked  so  I  left  youse  yer  milk 
OH  top  of  the  ice-box  on  the  back  porch. 
Thought  like  the  hired  girl  was  upstairs  an'  I 
could  git  the  tickets  to-morra." 

I  explain  about  the  cream,  adding  that  it  is 
wanted  for  short-cake.  The  explanation  does 
not  seem  to  cheer  him.  He  appears  to  be  a 
very  gloomy  and  reserved  milkman.  I  fancy 
that  he  is  in  the  habit  of  indulging  in  a  little 
airy  persiflage  with  Frieda  o'  mornings,  and  he 
finds  me  a  poor  substitute  for  her  red-cheeked 
comeliness. 

The  milk  safely  stowed  away  in  the  ice-box,  I 
have  another  look  at  the  roast.  I  am  dipping 
up  spoonfuls  of  brown  gravy  and  pouring  them 
over  the  surface  of  the  roast  in  approved  bast 
ing  style,  when  there  is  a  rush,  a  scramble,  and 
two  hard  bodies  precipitate  themselves  upon  my 
legs  so  suddenly  that  for  a  moment  my  head 
pitches  forward  into  the  oven.  I  withdraw  my 
head  from  the  oven,  hastily.  The  basting  spoon 
is  immersed  in  the  bottom  of  the  pan.  I  turn, 
indignant.  The  Spalpeens  look  up  at  me  with 
innocent  eyes. 

'  You  little  divils,  what  do  you  mean  by  shov 
ing  your  old  aunt  into  the  oven !  It's  cannibals 
you  are!  " 

The  idea  pleases  them.     They  release  my  legs 

[43] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

.and  execute  a  savage  war  dance  around  me. 
The  Spalpeens  are  firm  in  the  belief  that  I  was 
brought  to  their  home  for  their  sole  amusement, 
and  they  refuse  to  take  me  seriously.  The 
Spalpeens  themselves  are  two  of  the  finest  ex 
amples  of  real  humor  that  ever  were  perpetrated 
upon  parents.  Sheila  is  the  first-born.  Norah 
decided  that  she  should  be  an  Irish  beauty,  and 
bestowed  upon  her  a  name  that  reeks  of  the  bogs. 
Whereupon  Sheila,  at  the  age  of  six,  is  as  flaxen- 
haired  and  blue-eyed  and  stolid  a  little  German 
madchen  as  ever  fooled  her  parents,  and  she  is 
a  feminine  reproduction  of  her  German  Dad. 
Two  years  later  came  a  sturdy  boy,  and  they 
named  him  Hans,  in  a  flaunt  of  defiance.  Hans 
is  black-haired,  gray-eyed  and  Irish  as  Killarny. 

'  We're  awful  hungry,"  announces  Sheila. 

"  Can't  you  wait  until  dinner  time?  Such  a 
.grand  dinner !  " 

Sheila  and  Hans  roll  their  eyes  to  convey  to 
me  that,  were  they  to  wait  until  dinner  for  sus 
tenance  we  should  find  but  their  lifeless  forms. 

"  Well  then,  Auntie  will  get  a  nice  piece  of 
bread  and  butter  for  each  of  you." 

"  Don't  want  bread  an'  butty  1  "  shrieks  Hans. 
"Want  tooky!" 

"Cooky!"  echoes  Sheila,  pounding  on  the 
.kitchen  table  with  the  rescued  basting  spoon. 

[44] 


DAWN  DEVELOPS  A  HEIMWEH 

41  You  can't  have  cookies  before  dinner. 
They're  bad  for  your  insides." 

"  Can  too,"  disputes  Hans.  "  Fwieda  dives 
us  tookies.  Want  tooky  I  "  wailingly. 

"  Please,  ple-e-e-ease,  Auntie  Dawnie  dearie, n 
wheedles  Sheila,  wriggling  her  soft  little  fingers 
in  my  hand. 

"  But  Mother  never  lets  you  have  cookies 
before  dinner,"  I  retort  severely.  "  She  knows 
they  are  bad  for  you." 

"  Pooh,  she  does  too !  She  always  says,  '  No, 
not  a  cooky ! '  And  then  we  beg  and  screech, 
and  then  she  says,  *  Oh,  for  pity's  sake,  Frieda, 
give  'em  a  cooky  and  send  'em  out.  One  cooky 
can't  kill  'em.'  '  Sheila's  imitation  is  delicious. 

Hans  catches  the  word  screech  and  takes  it  as 
his  cue.  He  begins  a  series  of  ear-piercing 
wails.  Sheila  surveys  him  with  pride  and  then 
takes  the  wail  up  in  a  minor  key.  Their  team 
work  is  marvelous.  I  fly  to  the  cooky  jar  and 
extract  two  round  and  sugary  confections.  I 
thrust  them  into  the  pink,  eager  palms.  The 
wails  cease.  Solemnly  they  place  one  cooky  atop 
the  other,  measuring  the  circlets  with  grave  eyes. 

"  Mine's  a  weeny  bit  bigger'n  yours  this 
time,"  decides  Sheila,  and  holds  her  cocky 
heroically  while  Hans  takes  a  just  and  lawful 
bite  out  of  his  sister's  larger  share. 

[45] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

"  The  blessed  little  angels !  "  I  say  to  myself, 
melting.  "  The  dear,  unselfish  little  sweet 
ies  !  "  and  give  each  of  them  another  cooky. 

Back  to  my  typewriter.  But  the  words  flatly 
refuse  to  come  now.  I  make  six  false  starts, 
bite  all  my  best  finger-nails,  screw  my  hair  into 
a  wilderness  of  cork-screws  and  give  it  up.  No 
doubt  a  real  Lady  Writer  could  write  on,  un 
ruffled  and  unhearing,  while  the  iceman  squashed 
the  cucumbers,  and  the  roast  burned  to  a  frazzle, 
and  the  Spalpeens  perished  of  hunger.  Pos 
sessed  of  the  real  spark  of  genius,  trivialities  like 
milkmen  and  cucumbers  could  not  dim  its  glow. 
Perhaps  all  successful  Lady  Writers  with  real 
live  sparks  have  cooks  and  scullery  maids,  and 
need  not  worry  about  basting,  and  gravy,  and 
milkmen. 

This  book  writing  is  all  very  well  for  those 
who  have  a  large  faith  in  the  future  and  an 
equally  large  bank  account.  But  my  future  will 
have  to  be  hand-carved,  and  my  bank  account 
has  always  been  an  all  too  small  pay  envelope  at 
the  end  of  each  week.  It  will  be  months  before 
the  book  is  shaped  and  finished.  And  my 
pocketbook  is  empty.  Last  week  Max  sent 
money  for  the  care  of  Peter.  He  and  Norah 
think  that  I  do  not  know. 

Yon  Gerhard  was  here  in  August.     I  told  him 

[46] 


DAWN  DEVELOPS  A  HEIMWEH 

that  all  my  firm  resolutions  to  forsake  news- 
paperdom  forever  were  slipping  away,one  by  one. 

"  I  have  heard  of  the  fascination  of  the  news 
paper  office,"  he  said,  in  his  understanding  way. 
•**  I  believe  you  have  a  heimweh  for  it,  not?  " 

"  Heimweh  f  That's  the  word,"  I  had 
agreed.  "  After  you  have  been  a  newspaper 
writer  for  seven  years  —  and  loved  it  —  you 
will  be  a  newspaper  writer,  at  heart  and  by  in 
stinct  at  least,  until  you  die.  There's  no  getting 
away  from  it.  It's  in  the  blood.  Newspaper 
men  have  been  known  to  inherit  fortunes,  to 
enter  politics,  to  write  books  and  become  famous, 
to  degenerate  into  press  agents  and  become  in 
famous,  to  blossom  into  personages,  to  sink  into 
nonentities,  but  their  news-nose  remained  a  part 
of  them,  and  the  inky,  smoky,  stuffy  smell  of  a 
newspaper  office  was  ever  sweet  in  their  nos 
trils." 

But,  "Not  yet,"  Von  Gerhard  had  said, 
"  unless  you  want  to  have  again  this  miserable 
business  of  the  sick  nerfs.  Wait  yet  a  few 
months." 

And  so  I  have  waited,  saying  nothing  to 
Norah  and  Max.  But  I  want  to  be  in  the  midst 
of  things.  I  miss  the  sensation  of  having  my 
fingers  at  the  pulse  of  the  big  old  world.  I'm 
lonely  for  the  noise  and  the  rush  and  the  hard 

[47] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

work;  for  a  glimpse  of  the  busy  local  room  just 
before  press  time,  when  the  lights  are  swimming 
in  a  smoky  haze,  and  the  big  presses  downstairs 
are  thundering  their  warning  to  hurry,  and  the 
men  are  breezing  in  from  their  runs  with  the 
grist  of  news  that  will  be  ground  finer  and  finer 
as  it  passes  through  the  mill  of  copy-readers' 
and  editors'  hands.  I  want  to  be  there  in  the 
thick  of  the  confusion  that  is,  after  all,  so 
orderly.  I  want  to  be  there  when  the  telephone 
bells  are  zinging,  and  the  typewriters  are  snap 
ping,  and  the  messenger  boys  are  shuffling  in  and 
out,  and  the  office  kids  are  scuffling  in  a  corner, 
and  the  big  city  editor,  collar  off,  sleeves  rolled 
up  from  his  great  arms,  hair  bristling  wildly 
above  his  green  eye-shade,  is  swearing  gently 
and  smoking  cigarette  after  cigarette,  lighting 
each  fresh  one  at  the  dying  glow  of  the  last. 
I  would  give  a  year  of  my  life  to  hear  him 
say: 

"  I  don't  mind  tellin'  you,  Beatrice  Fairfax, 
that  that  was  a  darn  good  story  you  got  on  the 
Millhaupt  divorce.  The  other  fellows  haven't 
a  word  that  isn't  re-hash." 

All  of  which  is  most  unwomanly;  for  is  not 
marriage  woman's  highest  aim,  and  home  her 
true  sphere?  Haven't  I  tried  both?  I  ought 
to  know.  I  merely  have  been  miscast  in  this 

[48] 


DAWN  DEVELOPS  A  HEIMWEH 

life's  drama.  My  part  should  have  been  that 
of  one  who  makes  her  way  alone.  Peter,  with 
his  thin,  cruel  lips,  and  his  shaking  hands,  and 
his  haggard  face  and  his  smoldering  e,yesv  is  a 
shadow  forever  blotting  out  the  sunny  places  in 
my  path.  I  was  meant  to  be  an  old  maid,  like 
the  terrible  old  Kitty  O'Hara.  Not  one  of 
the  tatting-and-tea  kind,  but  an  impressive,  bus 
tling  old  girl,  with  a  double  chin,  The  sharp* 
tongued  Kitty  O'Hara  used  to  say  that  being  an 
old  maid  was  a  great  deal  like  death  by  drown 
ing  —  a  really  delightful  sensation  when  you 
ceased  struggling. 

Norah  has  pleaded  with  me  to  be  more  like 
other  women  of  my  age,  and  for  her  sake  I've 
tried.  She  has  led  me  about  to  bridge  parties 
and  tea  fights,  and  I  have  tried  to  act 
as  though  I  wefe  enjoying  it  all,  but  I 
knew  that  I  wasn't  getting  on  a  bit.  I  have 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  one  year  of  news- 
papering  counts  for  two  years  of  ordinary  ex 
istence,  and  that  while  I'm  twenty-eight  in  the 
family  Bible  I'm  fully  forty  inside.  When  one 
day  may  bring  under  one's  pen  a  priest,  a  pauper, 
a  prostitute,  a  philanthropist,  each  with  a  story 
to  tell,  and  each  requiring  to  be  bullied,  or 
cajoled,  or  bribed,  or  threatened,  or  tricked  into 
telling  it;  then  the  end  of  that  day's  work  finds 

[49] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

one  looking  out  at  the  world  with  eyes  that  are 
very  tired  and  as  old  as  the  world  itself. 

I'm  spoiled  for  sewing  bees  and  church  socia 
bles  and  afternoon  bridges.  A  hunger  for  the 
city  is  upon  me.  The  long,  lazy  summer  days 
have  slipped  by.  There  is  an  autumn  tang  in 
the  air.  The  breeze  has  a  touch  that  is  sharp. 

Winter  in  a  little  northern  town!  I  should 
go  mad.  But  winter  in  the  city!  The  streets 
at  dusk  on  a  frosty  evening;  the  shop  windows 
arranged  by  artist  hands  for  the  beauty-loving 
eyes  of  women;  the  rows  of  lights  like  jewels 
strung  on  an  invisible  chain ;  the  glitter  of  brass 
and  enamel  as  the  endless  procession  of  motors 
flashes  past;  the  smartly-gowned  women;  the 
keen-eyed,  nervous  men;  the  shrill  note  of  the 
crossing  policeman's  whistle;  every  smoke- 
grimed  wall  and  pillar  taking  on  a  mysterious 
shadowy  beauty  in  the  purple  dusk,  every  un 
sightly  blot  obscured  by  the  kindly  night.  But 
best  of  all,  the  fascination  of  the  People  I'd  Like 
to  Know.  They  pop  up  now  and  then  in  the 
shifting  crowds,  and  are  gone  the  next  moment,; 
leaving  behind  them  a  vague  regret.  Some 
times  I  call  them  the  People  I'd  Like  to  Know 
and  sometimes  I  call  them  the  People  I  Know 
I'd  Like,  but  it  means  much  the  same.  Their 
faces  flash  by  in  the  crowd,  and  are  gone,  but 

[50] 


DAWN  DEVELOPS  A  HEIMWEH 

I  recognize  them  instantly  as  belonging  to  my 
beloved  circle  of  unknown  friends. 

Once  it  was  a  girl  opposite  me  in  a  car  —  a 
girl  with  a  wide,  humorous  mouth,  and  tragic 
fyes,  and  a  hole  in  her  shoe.  Once  it  was  a 
big,  homely,  red-headed  giant  of  a  man  with  an 
engineering  magazine  sticking  out  of  his  coat 
pocket.  He  was  standing  at  a  book  counter 
reading  Dickens  like  a  schoolboy  and  laughing 
in  all  the  right  places,  I  know,  because  I  peaked 
over  his  shoulder  to  see.  Another  time  it  was  a 
sprightly  little  grizzled  old  woman,  staring  into 
a  dazzling  shop  window  in  which  was  displayed 
a  wonderful  collection  of  fashionably  impossible 
hats  and  gowns.  She  was  dressed  all  in  rusty 
black,  was  the  little  old  lady,  and  she  had  a 
quaint  cast  in  her  left  eye  that  gave  her  the 
oddest,  most  sporting  look.  The  cast  was 
working  overtime  as  she  gazed  at  the  gowns, 
and  the  ridiculous  old  sprigs  on  her  rusty  black 
bonnet  trembled  with  her  silent  mirth.  She 
looked  like  one  of  those  clever,  epigrammatic, 
dowdy  old  duchesses  that  one  reads  about  in 
English  novels.  I'm  sure  she  had  cardamon 
seeds  in  her  shabby  bag,  and  a  carriage  with  a 
crest  on  it  waiting  for  her  just  around  the  corner. 
I  ached  to  slip  my  hand  through  her  arm  and 
ask  her  what  she  thought  of  it  all.  I  know  that 


DAWN  O'HARA 

her  reply  would  have  been  exquisitely  witty  and 
audacious,  and  I  did  so  long  to  hear  her  say  it. 

No  doubt  some  good  angel  tugs  at  my  com 
mon  sense,  restraining  me  from  doing  these 
things  that  I  am  tempted  to  do.  Of  course  it 
would  be  madness  for  a  woman  to  address  un 
known  red-headed  men  with  the  look  of  an 
engineer  about  them  and  a  book  of  Dickens  in 
their  hands;  or  perky  old  women  with  nut 
cracker  faces;  or  girls  with  wide  humorous 
mouths.  Oh,  it  couldn't  be  done,  I  suppose. 
They  would  clap  me  in  a  padded  cell  in  no  time 
if  I  were  to  say: 

"  Mister  Red-headed  Man,  I'm  so  glad  your 
heart  is  young  enough  for  Dickens.  I  love  him 
too  —  enough  to  read  him  standing  at  a  book 
counter  in  a  busy  shop.  And  do  you  know,  I 
like  the  squareness  of  your  jaw,  and  the  way 
your  eyes  crinkle  up  when  you  laugh ;  and  as  for 
your  being  an  engineer  —  why  one  of  the  very 
first  men  I  ever  loved  was  the  engineer  in 
*  Soldiers  of  Fortune/  " 

I  wonder  what  the  girl  in  the  car  would  have 
said  if  I  had  crossed  over  to  her,  and  put  my 
hand  on  her  arm  and  spoken,  thus : 

"  Girl  with  the  wide,  humorous  mouth,  and 
the  tragic  eyes,  and  the  hole  in  your  shoe,  I 
think  you  must  be  an  awfully  good  sort.  Ill 


DAWN  DEVELOPS  A  HEIMWEH 

wager  you  paint,  or  write,  or  act,  or  do  some 
thing  clever  like  that  for  a  living.  But  from 
that  hole  in  your  shoe  which  you  have  inked  so 
carefully,  although  it  persists  in  showing  white 
at  the  seams,  I  fancy  you  are  stumbling  over  a 
rather  stony  bit  of  Life's  road  just  now.  And 
from  the  look  in  your  eyes,  girl,  I'm  afraid  the 
stones  have  cut  and  bruised  rather  cruelly.  But 
when  I  look  at  your  smiling,  humorous  mouth  I 
know  that  you  are  trying  to  laugh  at  the  hurts. 
I  think  that  this  morning,  when  you  inked  your 
shoe  for  the  dozenth  time,  you  hesitated  between 
tears  and  laughter,  and  the  laugh  won,  thank 
God !  Please  keep  right  on  laughing,  and  don't 
you  dare  stop  for  a  minute!  Because  pretty 
soon  you'll  come  to  a  smooth  easy  place,  and 
then  won't  you  be  glad  that  you  didn't  give  up 
to  lie  down  by  the  roadside,  weary  of  your 
hurts?" 

Oh,  it  would  never  do.  Never.  And  yet  no 
charm  possessed  by  the  people  I  know  and  like 
can  compare  with  the  fascination  of  those  Peo 
ple  I'd  Like  to  Know,  and  Know  I  Would  Like. 

Here  at  home  with  Norah  there  are  no  faces 
in  the  crowds.  There  are  no  crowds.  When 
you  turn  the  corner  at  Main  street  you  are  quite 
sure  that  you  will  see  the  same  people  in  the 
same  places.  You  know  that  Mamie  Hayes  will 
[53] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

be  flapping  her  duster  just  outside  the  door  of 
the  jewelry  store  where  she  clerks.  She  gazes 
up  and  down  Main  street  as  she  flaps  the  cloth, 
her  bright  eyes  keeping  a  sharp  watch  for  stray 
traveling  men  that  may  chance  to  be  passing.; 
You  know  that  there  will  be  the  same  lounging 
group  of  white-faced,  vacant-eyed  youths  outside 
the  pool-room.  Dr.  Briggs's  patient  runabout 
will  be  standing  at  his  office  doorway.  Outside 
his  butcher  shop  Assemblyman  Schenck  will  be 
holding  forth  on  the  subject  of  county  politics  to 
a  group  of  red-faced,  badly  dressed,  pros 
perous  looking  farmers  and  townsmen,  and  as  he 
talks  the  circle  of  brown  tobacco  juice  which 
surrounds  the  group  closes  in  upon  them,  nearer 
and  nearer.  And  there,  in  a  roomy  chair  in  a 
corner  of  the  public  library  reference  room,  fac 
ing  the  big  front  window,  you  will  see  Old  Man 
Randall.  His  white  hair  forms  a  halo  above 
his  pitiful  drink-marred  face.  He  was  to  have 
been  a  great  lawyer,  was  Old  Man  Randall. 
But  on  the  road  to  fame  he  met  Drink,  and  she 
grasped  his  arm,  and  led  him  down  by-ways,  and 
into  crooked  lanes,  and  finally  into  ditches,  and 
he  never  arrived  at  his  goal.  There  in  that 
library  window  nook  it  is  cool  in  summer,  and 
warm  in  winter.  So  he  sits  and  dreams,  holding 
an  open  volume,  unread,  on  his  knees.  Some- 

[54] 


DAWN  DEVELOPS  A  HEIMWEH 

times  he  writes,  hunched  up  in  his  corner,  fever 
ishly  scribbling  at  ridiculous  plays,  short  stories, 
and  novels  which  later  he  will  insist  on  reading 
to  the  tittering  schoolboys  and  girls  who  come 
into  the  library  to  do  their  courting  and  refer 
ence  work.  Presently,  when  it  grows  dusk,  Old 
Man  Randall  will  put  away  his  book,  throw  his 
coat  over  his  shoulders,  sleeves  dangling,  flow 
ing  white  locks  sweeping  the  frayed  velvet 
collar.  He  will  march  out  with  his  soldierly 
tread,  humming  a  bit  of  a  tune,  down  the  street 
and  into  Vandermeister's  saloon,  where  he  will 
beg  a  drink  and  a  lunch,  and  some  man  will  give 
it  to  him  tor  the  sake  of  what  Old  Man  Randall 
might  have  been. 

All  these  things  you  know.  And  knowing 
them,  what  is  left  for  the  imagination?  How 
can  one  dream  dreams  about  people  when  one 
knows  how  much  they  pay  their  hired  girl,  and 
what  they  have  for  dinner  on  Wednesdays? 


[55] 


CHAPTER  V 

THE   ABSURD   BECOMES    SERIOUS 

T  CAN  understand  the  emotions  of  a  broken- 
•*•  down  war  horse  that  is  hitched  to  a  vege 
table  wagon.  I  am  going  to  Milwaukee  to 
work !  It  is  a  thing  to  make  the  gods  hold  their 
sides  and  roll  down  from  their  mountain  peaks 
with  laughter.  After  New  York  —  Milwau 
kee! 

Of  course  Von  Gerhard  is  to  blame.  But 
I  think  even  he  sees  the  humor  of  it.  It  hap 
pened  in  this  way,  on  a  day  when  I  was  indulging 
in  a  particularly  greenery-yallery  fit  of  gloom. 
Norah  rushed  into  my  room.  I  think  I  was 
mooning  over  some  old  papers,  or  letters,  or  rib 
bons,  or  some  such  truck  in  the  charming,  knife- 
turning  way  that  women  have  when  they  are 
blue. 

"  Out  wid  yez  1  "  cried  Norah.  "  On  with 
your  hat  and  coat!  I've  just  had  a  wire  from 
Ernst  von  Gerhard.  He's  coming,  and  you 
look  like  an  under-done  dill  pickle.  You  aren't 
half  as  blooming  as  when  he  was  here  in  August, 
[56] 


THE  ABSURD  BECOMES  SERIOUS 

and  this  is  October.  Get  out  and  walk  until 
your  cheeks  are  so  red  that  Von  Gerhard  will 
refuse  to  believe  that  this  fiery-faced  puffing, 
bouncing  creature  is  the  green  and  limp  thing 
that  huddled  in  a  chair  a  few  months  ago.  Out 
ye  go!" 

And  out  I  went.  Hatless,  I  strode  country- 
wards,  leaving  paved  streets  and  concrete  walks 
far  behind  There  were  drifts  of  fallen  leaves 
all  about,  and  I  scuffled  through  them  drearily, 
trying  to  feel  gloomy,  and  old,  and  useless,  and 
failing  because  of  the  tang  in  the  air,  and  the 
red-and-gold  wonder  of  the  frost-kissed  leaves, 
and  the  regular  pump-pump  of  good  red  blood 
that  was  coursing  through  my  body  as  per  Nor- 
ah's  request. 

In  a  field  at  the  edge  of  the  town,  just  where 
city  and  country  begin  to  have  a  bowing  ac 
quaintance,  the  college  boys  were  at  football 
practice.  Their  scarlet  sweaters  made  gay 
patches  of  color  against  the  dull  gray-brown  of 
the  autumn  grass. 

"  Seven-eighteen-two-f our !  "  called  a  voice, 
There  followed  a  scuffle,  a  creaking  of  leather  on 
leather,  a  thud.  I  watched  them,  a  bit  en 
viously,  walking  backwards  until  a  twist  in  the 
road  hid  them  from  view.  That  same  twist 
transformed  my  path  into  a  real  country  road  — • 

[57] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

a  brown,  dusty,  monotonous  Michigan  country 
road  that  went  severely  about  its  business,  never 
once  stopping  to  flirt  with  the  blushing  autumn 
woodland  at  its  left,  or  to  dally  with  the  dim 
pling  ravine  at  its  right. 

"  Now  if  that  were  an  English  country  road," 
thought  I,  "  a  sociably  inclined,  happy-go-lucky, 
out-for-pleasure  English  country  road,  one  might 
expect  something  of  it.  On  an  English  country 
road  this  would  be  the  psychological  moment  for 
the  appearance  of  a  blond  god,  in  gray  tweed. 
What  a  delightful  time  of  it  Richard  Le  Gal- 
lienne's  hero  had  on  his  quest!  He  could  not 
stroll  down  the  most  innocent  looking  lane,  he 
might  not  loiter  along  the  most  out-of-the-way 
path,  he  never  ambled  over  the  barest  piece  of 
country  road,  that  he  did  not  come  face  to  face 
with  some  witty  and  lovely  woman  creature,  also 
in  search  of  things  unconventional,  and  able  to 
quote  charming  lines  from  Chaucer  to  him." 

Ah,  but  that  was  England,  and  this  is  Amer 
ica.  I  realize  it  sadly  as  I  step  out  of  the  road 
to  allow  a  yellow  milk  wagon  to  rattle  past. 
The  red  letters  on  the  yellow  milk  cart  inform 
the  reader  that  it  is  the  property  of  August 
Schimmelpfennig,  of  Hickory  Grove.  The 
Schimmelpfennig  eye  may  be  seen  staring  down 
upon  me  from  the  bit  of  glass  in  the  rear  as  the 

[58] 


THE  ABSURD  BECOMES  SERIOUS 

cart  rattles  ahead,  doubtless  being  suspicious  of 
hatless  young  women  wandering  along  country 
roads  at  dusk,  alone.  There  was  that  in  the 
staring  eye  to  which  I  took  exception.  It  wore 
an  expression  which  made  me  feel  sure  that  the 
mouth  below  it  was  all  a-grin,  if  I  could 
but  have  seen  it.  It  was  bad  enough  to  be 
stared  at  by  the  fishy  Schimmelpfennig  eye,  but 
to  be  grinned  at  by  the  Schimmelpfennig  mouth ! 
—  I  resented  it.  In  order  to  show  my  resent 
ment  I  turned  my  back  on  the  Schimmelpfennig 
cart  and  pretended  to  look  up  the  road  which  I 
had  just  traveled. 

I  pretended  to  look  up  the  road,  and  then  I 
did  look  in  earnest.  No  wonder  the  Schim 
melpfennig  eye  and  mouth  had  worn  the  leering 
expression.  The  blond  god  in  gray  tweed  was 
swinging  along  toward  me!  I  knew  that  he 
was  blond  because  he  wore  no  hat  and  the  last 
rays  of  the  October  sun  were  making  a  little  halo 
effect  about  his  head.  I  knew  that  his  gray 
clothes  were  tweed  because  every  well  regulated 
hero  on  a  country  road  wears  tweed.  It's  almostf; 
a  religion  with  them.  He  was  not  near  enough 
to  make  a  glance  at  his  features  possible.  I 
turned  around  and  continued  my  walk.  The 
yellow  cart,  with  its  impudent  Schimmelpfennig 
leer,  was  disappearing  in  a  cloud  of  dust, 

[59] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

Shades  of  the  "  Duchess  "  and  Bertha  M.  Clay! 
How  does  one  greet  a  blond  god  in  gray  tweed 
on  a  country  road,  when  one  has  him ! 

The  blond  god  solved  the  problem  for  me. 

"  Hi !  "  he  called.  I  did  not  turn.  There 
was  a  moment's  silence.  Then  there  came  a 
shrill,  insistent  whistle,  of  the  kind  that  is  made 
by  placing  four  fingers  between  the  teeth.  It  is 
a  favorite  with  the  gallery  gods.  I  would  not 
have  believed  that  gray  tweed  gods  stooped  to 
it. 

"  Hi !  "  called  the  voice  again,  very  near  now. 
"  Lieber  Gott!  Never  have  I  seen  so  proud  a 
young  woman !  " 

I  whirled  about  to  face  Von  Gerhard;  a 
strangely  boyish  and  unprofessional  looking  Von 
Gerhard. 

4  Young  man,"  I  said  severely,  "  have  you 
been  a-follerin'  of  me?  " 

"  For  miles,"  groaned  he,  as  we  shook  hands. 
"  You  walk  like  a  grenadier.  I  am  sent  by  the 
charming  Norah  to  tell  you  that  you  are  to  come 
'home  to  mix  the  salad  dressing,  for  there  is  com 
pany  for  supper.  I  am  the  company." 

I  was  still  a  bit  dazed.  "  But  how  did  you 
know  which  road  to  take?  And  when  — " 

"  Wunderbar,  nlcht  wahr? "  laughed  Von 
Gerhard.  "  But  really  quite  simple.  I  come 

[60] 


THE  ABSURD  BECOMES  SERIOUS 

in  on  an  earlier  train  than  I  had  expected,  chat 
a  moment  with  sister  Norah,  inquire  after  the 
health  of  my  patient,  and  am  told  that  she  is 
running  away  from  a  horde  of  blue  devils  — 
I  quote  your  charming  sister  —  that  have 
swarmed  about  her  all  day.  What  direction  did 
her  flight  take  ?  I  ask.  Sister  Norah  shrugs  her 
shoulders  and  presumes  that  it  is  the  road  which 
shows  the  reddest  and  yellowest  autumn  colors. 
That  road  will  be  your  road.  So !  " 

"  Pooh !  How  simple !  That  is  the  second 
disappointment  you  have  given  me  to-day.' ' 

"  But  how  is  that  possible  ?  The  first  has  not 
had  time  to  happen." 

"  The  first  was  yourself,"  I  replied,  rudely. 
"  I  had  been  longing  for  an  adventure.  And 
when  I  saw  you  'way  up  the  road,  such  an  un 
usual  figure  for  our  Michigan  country  roads, 
I  forgot  that  I  was  a  disappointed  old  grass 
widder  with  a  history,  and  I  grew  young  again, 
and  my  heart  jumped  up  into  my  throat,  and  I 
sez  to  mesilf,  sez  I :  *  Enter  the  hero !  '  And  it 
was  only  you." 

Von  Gerhard  stared  a  moment,  a  curious  look 
on  his  face.  Then  he  laughed  one  of  those 
rare  laughs  of  his,  and  I  joined  him  because  I 
was  strangely  young,  light,  and  happy  to  be 
alive. 

[61] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

"  You  walk  and  enjoy  walking,  yes?  "  asked 
Von  Gerhard,  scanning  my  face.  "  Your  cheeks 
they  are  like  —  well,  as  unlike  the  cheeks  of  the 
German  girls  as  Diana's  are  unlike  a  dairy 
maid's.  And  the  nerfs?  They  no  longer 
jump,  eh?  "  /  . 

"  Oh,  they  jump,  but  not  with  weariness. 
They  jump  to  get  into  action  again.  From  a 
life  of  too  much  excitement  I  have  gone  to  the 
other  extreme.  I  shall  be  dead  of  ennui  in  an 
other  six  months."  .  • 

"  Ennui  ?  "  mused  he,  "  and  you  are  —  how  is 
it  ?  —  twenty-eight  years,  yes  ?  H'm !  " 

There  was  a  world  of  exasperation  in  the  last 
exclamation. 

"  I  am  a  thousand  years  old,"  it  made  me  ex 
claim,  "  a  million!  " 

"  I  will  prove  to  you  that  you  are  sixteen," 
(declared  Von  Gerhard,  calmly. 

We  had  come  to  a  fork  in  the  road.  At  the 
right  the  narrower  road  ran  between  two  rows 
of  great  maples  that  made  an  arch  of  golden 
splendor.  The  frost  had  kissed  them  into  a 
gorgeous  radiance. 

"  Sunshine  Avenue,"  announced  Von  Gerhard. 
"  It  beckons  us  away  from  home,  and  supper  and 
salad  dressing  and  duty,  but  who  knows  what  we 
shall  find  at  the  end  of  it!  " 
[62] 


THE  ABSURD  BECOMES  SERIOUS 

"  Let's  explore,"  I  suggested.  "  It  is  splen 
didly  golden  enough  to  be  enchanted." 

We  entered  the  yellow  canopied  pathway. 

"Let  us  pretend  this  is  Germany,  yes?" 
pleaded  Von  Gerhard.  "  This  golden  pathway 
will  end  in  a  neat  little  glass-roofed  restaurant, 
with  tables  and  chairs  outside,  and  comfortable 
German  papas  and  mammas  and  pig-tailed  chil 
dren  sitting  at  the  tables,  drinking  coffee  or  beer. 
There  will  be  stout  waiters,  and  a  red-faced 
host.  And  we  will  seat  ourselves  at  one  of  the 
tables,  and  I  will  wave  my  hand,  and  one  of  the 
stout  waiters  will  come  flying.  '  Will  you  have 
coffee,  Fraulein,  or  beer?'  It  sounds  prosaic, 
but  it  is  very,  very  good,  as  you  will  see.  Path 
ways  in  Germany  always  end  in  coffee  and 
Kuchen  and  waiters  in  white  aprons. 

But,  "  Oh,  no!  "  I  exclaimed,  for  his  mood 
ivas  infectious.  "  This  is  France.  Please ! 
The  golden  pathway  will  end  in  a  picturesque 
little  French  farm,  with  a  dairy.  And  in  the 
doorway  of  the  farmhouse  there  will  be  a  red- 
skirted  peasant  woman,  with  a  white  cap  1  and  a 
baby  on  her  arm !  and  sabots!  Oh,  surely  she 
will  wear  sabots!  " 

"  Most  certainly  she  will  wear  sabots,"  Von 
Gerhard  said,  fef  atedly,  "  and  blue  knitted  stock 
ings.     And  tin  ta&y's  name  is  Mimi ! " 
[63] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

We  had  taken  hands  and  were  skipping  down 
the  pathway  now,  like  two  excited  children. 

"  Let's  run,"  I  suggested.  And  run  we  did, 
like  two  mad  creatures,  until  we  rounded  a  gentle 
curve  and  brought  up,  panting,  within  a  foot  of 
a  decrepit  rail  fence.  The  rail  fence  enclosed  a 
stubbly,  lumpy  field.  The  field  was  inhabited  by 
an  inquiring  cow.  Von  Gerhard  and  I  stood 
quite  still,  hand  in  hand,  gazing  at  the  cow. 
Then  we  turned  slowly  and  looked  at  each 
other. 

"  This  pathway  of  glorified  maples  ends  in  a 
cow,"  I  said,  solemnly.  At  which  we  both 
shrieked  with  mirth,  leaning  on  the  decrepit 
fence  and  mopping  our  eyes  with  our  handker 
chiefs. 

"  Did  I  not  say  you  were  sixteen?  "  taunted 
Von  Gerhard.  We  were  getting  surprisingly 
well  acquainted. 

"  Such  a  scolding  as  we  shall  get!  It  will  be 
quite  dark  before  we  are  home.  Norah  will  be 
tearing  her  hair." 

It  was  a  true  prophecy.  As  we  stampeded  up 
the  steps  the  door  was  flung  open,  disclosing  a 
tragic  figure. 

"  Such  a  steak !  "  wailed  Norah,  "  and  it  has 
been  done  for  hours  and  hours,  and  now  it 

[64] 


THE  ABSURD  BECOMES  SERIOUS 

looks  like  a  piece  of  fried  ear.     Where  have 
you    two   driveling   idiots    been?     And    mush 


rooms  too." 


"  She  means  that  the  ruined  steak  was  fur 
ther  enhanced  by  mushrooms,"  I  explained  in 
response  to  Von  Gerhard's  bewildered  look. 
We  marched  into  the  house,  trying  not  to  ap 
pear  like  sneak  thieves.  Max,  pipe  in  mouth, 
surveyed  us  blandly. 

"  Fine  color  youVe  got,  Dawn,"  he  re 
marked. 

;<  There  is  such  a  thing  as  overdoing  this 
health  business,"  snapped  Norah,  with  a  great 
deal  of  acidity  for  her.  "  I  didn't  tell  you  to 
make  them  purple,  you  know." 

Max  turned  to  Von  Gerhard.  "  Now  what 
does  she  mean  by  that  do  you  suppose,  eh 
Ernst?" 

"  Softly,  brother,  softly !  "  whispered  Von 
Gerhard.  "  When  women  exchange  remarks 
that  apparently  are  simple,  and  yet  that  you,  a 
man,  cannot  understand,  then  know  there  is  a 
woman's  war  going  on,  and  step  softly,  and 
hold  your  peace.  Aber  ruhig!  " 

Calm  was  restored  with  the  appearance  of 
the  steak,  which  was  found  to  have  survived 
the  period  of  waiting,  and  to  be  incredibly 

[65] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

yolcy  and  tender.  Presently  we  were  all  set 
tled  once  more  in  the  great  beamed  living  room, 
Sis  at  the  piano,  the  two  men  smoking  their 
after-dinner  cigars  with  that  idiotic  expression 
of  contentment  which  always  adorns  the  mascu 
line  face  on  such  occasions. 

I  looked  at  them  —  at  those  three  who  had 
done  so  much  for  my  happiness  and  well  being, 
and  something  within  me  said:  "Now!  Speak 
now !  "  Norah  was  playing  very  softly,  so  that 
the  Spalpeens  upstairs  might  not  be  disturbed. 
I  took  a  long  breath  and  made  the  plunge. 

"  Norah,  if  you'll  continue  the  slow  music, 
I'll  be  much  obliged.  '  The  time  has  come,  the 
Walrus  said,  to  talk  of  many  things.'  ' 

"  Don't  be  absurd,"  said  Norah,  over  her 
shoulder,  and  went  on  playing. 

"  I  never  was  more  serious  in  my  life,  good 
folkses  all.  I've  got  to  be.  This  butterfly  ex 
istence  has  gone  on  long  enough.  Norah,  and 
Max,  and  Mr.  Doctor  Man,  I  am  going  away." 

Norah's  hands  crashed  down  on  the  piano 
keys  with  a  jangling  discord.  She  swung  about 
to  face  me. 

"  Not  New  York  again,  Dawn !  Not  New 
York !  " 

"  I  am  afraid  so,"  I  answered. 

Max  —  bless  his  great,  b/otherly  heart  — 
[66] 


THE  ABSURD  BECOMES  SERIOUS 

rose  and  came  over  to  me  and  put  a  hand  on 
my  shoulder. 

"  Don't  you  like  it  here,  girlie?  Want  to  be 
hauled  home  on  a  shutter  again,  do  you?  You 
know  that  as  long  as  we  have  a  home,  you  have 
one.  We  need  you  here." 

But  I  shook  my  head.  From  his  chair  at  the 
other  side  of  the  room  I  could  feel  Von  Ger 
hard's  gaze  fixed  upon  us.  He  had  said  noth 
ing. 

"  Need  me !  No  one  needs  me.  Don't 
worry;  I'm  not  going  to  become  maudlin  about 
it.  But  I  don't  belong  here,  and  you  know  it. 
I  have  my  work  to  do.  Norah  is  the  best  sis 
ter  that  a  woman  ever  had.  And  Max,  you're 
an  angel  brother-in-law.  But  how  can  I  stay 
on  here  and  keep  my  self-respect?"  I  took 
Max's  big  hand  in  mine  and  gathered  courage 
from  it. 

"  But  you  have  been  working,"  wailed 
Norah,  "  every  morning.  And  I  thought  the 
book  was  coming  on  beautifully.  And  I'm 
sure  it  will  be  a  wonderful  book,  Dawn  dean 
You  are  so  clever." 

"  Oh,  the  book  —  it  is  too  uncertain.  Per 
haps  it  will  go,  but  perhaps  it  won't.  And 
then  —  what?  It  will  be  months  before  the 
book  is  properly  polished  off.  And  then  I  may 

[67] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

peddle  it  around  for  more  months.  No;  I 
can't  afford  to  trifle  with  uncertainties. 
Every  newspaper  man  or  woman  writes  a  book. 
It's  like  having  the  measles.  There  is  not  a 
newspaper  man  living  who  does  not  believe,  in 
his  heart,  that  if  he  could  only  take  a  month  or 
two  away  from  the  telegraph  desk  or  the  police 
run,  he  could  write  the  book  of  the  year,  not  to 
speak  of  the  great  American  Play.  Why,  just 
look  at  me!  I've  only  been  writing  seriously 
for  a  few  weeks,  and  already  the  best  maga 
zines  in  the  country  are  refusing  my  manuscripts 
daily." 

"  Don't  joke,"  said  Norah,  coming  over  to 
me,  "  I  can't  stand  it." 

"Why  not?  Much  better  than  weeping, 
isn't  it?  And  anyway,  I'm  no  subject  for  tears 
any  more.  Dr.  von  Gerhard  will  tell  you  how 
well  and  strong  I  am.  Won't  you,  Herr 
Doktor?" 

"  Well,"  said  Von  Gerhard,  in  his  careful, 
deliberate  English,  "  since  you  ask  me,  I  should 
say  that  you  might  last  about  one  year,  in  New 
York." 

"There!  WHat  did  I  tell  you!"  cried 
Norah. 

"  What  utter  blither!  "  I  scoffed,  turning  to 
glare  at  Von  Gerhard. 

[68] 


THE  ABSURD  BECOMES  SERIOUS 

"  Gently,"  warned  Max.  "  Such  disrespect 
to  the  man  who  pulled  you  back  from  the  edge 
of  the  yawning  grave  only  six  months  ago!  " 

"  Yawning  fiddlesticks !  "  snapped  I,  ele 
gantly.  u  There  was  nothing  wrong  with  me 
except  that  I  wanted  to  be  fussed  over.  And 
I  have  been.  And  I've  loved  it.  But  it  must 
stop  now."  I  rose  and  walked  over  to  the 
table  and  faced  Von  Gerhard,  sitting  there  in 
the  depths  of  a  great  chair.  "  You  do  not 
seem  to  realize  that  I  am  not  free  to  come  and 
go,  and  work  and  play,  and  laugh  and  live  like 
other  women.  There  is  my  living  to  make. 
And  there  is  —  Peter  Orme.  Do  you  think 
that  I  could  stay  on  here  like  this?  Oh,  I  know 
that  Max  is  not  a  poor  man.  But  he  is  not 
a  rich  man,  either.  And  there  are  the  chil 
dren  to  be  educated,  and  besides,  Max  married 
Norah  O'Hara,  not  the  whole  O'Hara  tribe. 
I  want  to  go  to  work.  I  am  not  a  free  woman, 
but  when  I  am  working,  I  forget,  and  am  al 
most  happy.  I  tell  you  I  must  be  well  again ! 
I  will  be  well!  I  am  well!" 

At  the  end  of  which  dramatic  period  I 
spoiled  the  whole  effect  by  bowing  my  head  on 
the  table  and  giving  way  to  a  fit  of  weeping 
such  as  I  had  not  had  since  the  days  of  my 
illness. 

[69] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

"  Looks  like  it,"  said  Max,  at  which  I  de 
cided  to  laugh,  and  the  situation  was  saved. 

It  was  then  that  Von  Gerhard  proposed  the 
thing  that  set  us  staring  at  him  in  amused  won 
der.  He  came  over  and  stood  looking  down 
at  us,  his  hands  outspread  upon  the  big. 
library  table,  his  body  bent  forward  in  an  atti 
tude  of  eager  intentness.  I  remember  thinking 
what  wonderful  hands  they  were,  true  indexes 
of  the  man's  character;  broad,  white,  surgeonly 
hands;  the  fingers  almost  square  at  the  tips. 
They  were  hands  as  different  from  those 
slender,  nervous,  unsteady,  womanly  hands  of 
Peter  Orme  as  any  hands  could  be,  I  thought. 
They  were  hands  made  for  work  that  called 
for  delicate  strength,  if  such  a  paradox  could 
be;  hands  to  cling  to;  to  gain  courage  from; 
hands  that  spelled  power  and  reserve.  I 
looked  at  them,  fascinated,  as  I  often  had  done 
before,  and  thought  that  I  never  had  seen  such 
sane  hands. 

"  You  have  done  me  the  honor  to  include  me 
in  this  little  family  conclave,"  began  Ernst  von 
Gerhard.  "  I  am  going  to  take  advantage  of 
your  trust.  I  shall  give  you  some  advice  —  a 
thing  I  usually  keep  for  unpleasant  professional 
occasions.  Do  not  go  back  to  New  York." 

"  But  I  know  New  York.     And  New  York 


THE  ABSURD  BECOMES  SERIOUS 

—  the  newspaper  part  of  it  —  knows  me. 
Where  else  can  I  go?  " 

"  You  have  your  book  to  finish.  You  could 
never  finish  it  there,  is  it  not  so?  " 

I'm  afraid  I  shrugged  my  shoulders.  It  was 
all  so  much  harder  than  I  had  expected.  What 
did  they  want  me  to  do?  I  asked  myself,  bit 
terly. 

Von  Gerhard  went  on.  "  Why  not  go 
where  the  newspaper  work  will  not  be  so 
nerve-racking?  where  you  still  might  find  time 
for  this  other  work  that  is  dear  to  you,  and 
that  may  bring  its  reward  in  time."  He  reached 
out  and  took  my  hand,  into  his  great,  steady 
clasp.  "  Come  to  the  happy,  healthy,  German 
town  called  Milwaukee,  yes?  Ach,  you  may 
laugh.  But  newspaper  work  is  newspaper 
work  the  world  over,  because  men  and  womea 
are  just  men  and  women  the  world  over.  But 
there  you  could  live  sanely,  and  work  not  too 
hard,  and  there  would  be  spare  hours  for  the 
book  that  is  near  your  heart.  And  I  —  I  will 
speak  of  you  to  Norberg,  of  the  Post.  And 
on  Sundays,  if  you  are  good,  I  may  take  you 
along  the  marvelous  lake  drives  in  my  little  red 
runabout,  yes?  Aber  wunderbar,  those  drives 
are!  So." 

Then  — "  Milwaukee !  "   shrieked  Max  and 


DAWN  O'HARA 

Norah  and  I,  together.  "  After  New  York  — 
Milwaukee!  " 

"  Laugh,"  said  Von  Gerhard,  quite  com* 
posedly.  "  I  give  you  until  to-morrow  morn 
ing  to  stop  laughing.  At  the  end  of  that  time 
it  will  not  seem  quite  so  amusing.  No  joke  is 
so  funny  after  one  has  contemplated  it  for 
twelve  hours." 

The  voice  of  Norah,  the  temptress,  sounded 
close  to  my  ear.  "  Dawn  dear,  just  think  how 
many  million  miles  nearer  you  would  be  to 
Max,  and  me,  and  home." 

"Oh,  you  have  all  gone  mad!  The  thing 
is  impossible.  I  shan't  go  back  to  a  country 
sheet  in  my  old  age.  I  suppose  that  in  two 
more  years  I  shall  be  editing  a  mothers'  column 
on  an  agricultural  weekly." 

"  Norberg  would  be  delighted  to  get  you," 
mused  Von  Gerhard,  "  and  it  would  be  day 
work  instead  of  night  work." 

"  And  you  would  send  me  a  weekly  bulletin 
on  Dawn's  health,  wouldn't  you,  Ernst?" 
pleaded  Norah.  "  And  you'd  teach  her  to 
drink  beer  and  she  shall  grow  so  fat  that  the 
Spalpeens  won't  know  their  auntie." 

At  last — "How  much  do  they  pay?"  I 
asked,  in  desperation.  And  the  thing  that  had 

[72] 


THE  ABSURD  BECOMES  SERIOUS 

appeared  so  absurd  at  first  began  to  take  on  the 
shape  of  reality. 

Von  Gerhard  did  speak  to  Norberg  of  the 
Post.  And  I  am  to  go  to  Milwaukee  next 
week.  The  skeleton  of  the  book  manuscript 
is  stowed  safely  away  in  the  bottom  of  my 
trunk  and  Norah  has  filled  in  the  remaining 
space  with  sundry  flannels,  and  hot  water  bags 
and  medicine  flasks,  so  that  I  feel  like  a  school 
girl  on  her  way  to  boarding-school,  instead  of 
like  a  seasoned  old  newspaper  woman  with  a 
capital  PAST  and  a  shaky  future.  I  wish  that 
I  were  chummier  with  the  Irish  saints.  I  need 
them  now. 


f735 


CHAPTER  VI 

STEEPED   IN   GERMAN 

I  AM  living  at  a  little  private  hotel  just 
across  from  the  court  house  square  with 
its  scarlet  geraniums  and  its  pretty  fountain. 
The  house  is  filled  with  German  civil  engineers, 
mechanical  engineers,  and  Herr  Professors 
from  the  German  academy.  On  Sunday  morn 
ings  we  have  Pfannkuchen  with  currant  jelly, 
and  the  Herr  Professors  come  down  to  break 
fast  in  fearful  flappy  German  slippers.  I'm 
the  only  creature  in  the  place  that  isn't  just 
over  from  Germany.  Even  the  dog  is  a  dachs 
hund.  It  is  so  unbelievable  that  every  day  or 
two  I  go  down  to  Wisconsin  Street  and  gaze 
at  the  stars  and  stripes  floating  from  the  govern 
ment  building,  in  order  to  convince  myself  that 
this  is  America.  It  needs  only  a  Kaiser  or  so, 
and  a  bit  of  Unter  den  Linden  to  be  quite  com- 
plete. 

The  little  private  hotel  is  kept  by  Herr  and 
Frau  Knapf.     After  one  has  seen  them,   one 

[74] 


STEEPED  IN  GERMAN 

quite  understands  why  the  place  is  steeped  in 
a  German  atmosphere  up  to  its  eyebrows. 

I  never  would  have  found  it  myself.  It  was 
Doctor  von  Gerhard  who  had  suggested 
Knapfs,  and  who  had  paved  the  way  for  my 
coming  here. 

"  You  will  find  it  quite  unlike  anything  you 
have  ever  tried  before,"  he  warned  me. 
"  Very  German  it  is,  and  very,  very  clean,  and 
most  inexpensive.  Also  I  think  you  will  find 
material  there  —  how  is  it  you  call  it?  —  copy, 
yes  ?  Well,  there  should  be  copy  in  plenty ;  and 
types!  But  you  shall  see." 

From  the  moment  I  rang  the  Knapf  door 
bell  I  saw.  The  dapper,  cheerful  Herr  Knapf, 
wearing  a  disappointed  Kaiser  Wilhelm  mus 
tache,  opened  the  door.  I  scarcely  had  begun 
to  make  my  wishes  known  when  he  interrupted 
with  a  large  wave  of  the  hand,  and  an  elabo 
rate  German  bow. 

"  Ach  yes !  You  would  be  the  lady  of  whom 
the  Herr  Doktor  has  spoken.  Gewiss!  Frau 
Orme,  not?  But  so  a  young  lady  I  did  not  ex 
pect  to  see.  A  room  we  have  saved  for  you 
• —  aber  wunderhiibsch !  It  makes  me  much 
pleasure  to  show.  Folgen  Sie  mir,  bitte." 
'You  —  you  speak  English?"  I  faltered, 

[75] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

with  visions  of  my  evenings  spent  in  expressing 
myself  in  the  sign  language. 

"Englisch?  But  yes.  Here  In  Milwaukee 
it  gives  aber  mostly  German.  And  then  too,  I 
have  been  only  twenty  years  in  this  country. 
And  always  in  Milwaukee.  Here  is  it  gemut- 
lich  —  and  mostly  it  gives  German." 

I  tried  not  to  look  frightened,  and  followed 
him  up  to  the  "  but  wonderfully  beautiful  " 
room.  To  my  joy  I  found  it  high-ceilinged, 
airy,  and  huge,  with  a  great  vault  of  a  clothes 
closet  bristling  with  hooks,  and  boasting  an  un 
believable  number  of  shelves.  My  trunk  was 
swallowed  up  in  it.  Never  in  all  my  board 
ing-house  experience  have  I  seen  such  a  room, 
or  such  a  closet.  The  closet  must  have  been 
built  for  a  bride's  trousseau  in  the  days  of 
hoop-skirts  and  scuttle  bonnets.  There  was  a 
separate  and  distinct  hook  for  each  and  every 
one  of  my  most  obscure  garments.  I  tried  to 
spread  them  out.  I  used  two  hooks  to  every 
petticoat,  and  three  for  my  kimono,  and  when 
I  had  finished  there  were  rows  of  hooks  to 
spare.  Tiers  of  shelves  yawned  for  hat-boxes 
which  I  possessed  not.  Bluebeard's  wives 
could  have  held  a  family  reunion  in  that  closet 
and  invited  all  of  Solomon's  spouses.  Finally, 
in  desperation,  I  gathered  all  my  poor  garments 

[76] 


STEEPED  IN  GERMAN 

together  and  hung  them  in  a  sociable  bunch  on 
the  hooks  nearest  the  door.  How  I  should 
have  loved  to  have  shown  that  closet  to  a  select 
circle  of  New  York  boarding-house  land 
ladies  ! 

After  wrestling  in  vain  with  the  forest  of 
hooks,  I  turned  my  attention  to  my  room.  I 
yanked  a  towel  thing  off  the  center  table  and 
replaced  it  with  a  scarf  that  Peter  had  picked 
up  in  the  Orient.  I  set  up  my  typewriter  in  a 
corner  near  a  window  and  dug  a  gay  cushion 
or  two  and  a  chafing-dish  out  of  my  trunk.  I 
distributed  photographs  of  Norah  and  Max 
and  the  Spalpeens  separately,  in  couples,  and 
in  groups.  Then  I  bounced  up  and  down  in 
a  huge  yellow  brocade  chair  and  found  it  un 
believably  soft  and  comfortable.  Of  course, 
I  reflected,  after  the  big  veranda,  and  the  apple 
tree  at  Norah's,  and  the  leather-cushioned  com 
fort  of  her  library,  and  the  charming  tones  of 
her  Oriental  rugs  and  hangings  — 

"  Oh,  stop  your  carping,  Dawn!  "  I  told  my 
self.  '  You  can't  expect  charming  tones,  and 
Oriental  do-dads  and  apple  trees  in  a  German 
boarding-house.  Anyhow  there's  running 
water  in  the  room.  For  general  utility  pur 
poses  that's  better  than  a  pink  prayer  rug." 

There  was  a  time  when  I  thought  that  it  was 
[77] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

the  luxuries  that  made  life  worth  living.  That 
was  in  the  old  Bohemian  days. 

"  Necessities !"  I  used  to  laugh,  "Pooh! 
Who  cares  about  the  necessities!  What  if  the 
dishpan  does  leak?  It  is  the  luxuries  that 
count." 

Bohemia  and  luxuries!  Half  a  dozen  lean 
boarding-house  years  have  steered  me  safely 
past  that.  After  such  a  course  in  common 
sense  you  don't  stand  back  and  examine  the  pic 
tures  of  a  pink  Moses  in  a  nest  of  purple  bull- 
rushes,  or  complain  because  the  bureau  does  not 
harmonize  with  the  wall  paper.  Neither  do 
you  criticize  the  blue  and  saffron  roses  that 
form  the  rug  pattern.  'Deedy  not!  Instead 
you  warily  punch  the  mattress  to  see  if  it  is 
rock-stuffed,  and  you  snoop  into  the  clothes 
closet;  you  inquire  the  distance  to  the  nearest 
bath  room,  and  whether  the  payments  are 
weekly  or  monthly,  and  if  there  is  a  baby  in  the 
room  next  door.  Oh,  there's  nothing  like  liv 
ing  in  a  boarding-house  for  cultivating  the  ma 
terialistic  side. 

But  I  was  to  find  that  here  at  Knapf  s  things 
were  quite  different.  Not  only  was  Ernst  von 
Gerhard  right  in  saying  that  it  was  "  very  Ger 
man,  and  very,  very  clean ;"  he  recognized 
good  copy  when  he  saw  it.  Types!  I  never 

[78] 


STEEPED  IN  GERMAN 

dreamed  that  such  faces  existed  outside  of  the 
old  German  woodcuts  that  one  sees  illustrating 
time-yellowed  books. 

I  had  thought  myself  hardened  to  strange 
boarding-house  dining  rooms,  with  their  bat 
teries  of  cold,  critical  women's  eyes.  I  had 
learned  to  walk  unruffled  in  the  face  of  the 
most  carping,  suspicious  and  the  fishiest  of 
these  batteries.  Therefore  on  my  first  day  at 
Knapf's  I  went  down  to  dinner  in  the  evening, 
quite  composed  and  secure  in  the  knowledge 
that  my  collar  was  clean  and  that  there  was  no 
flaw  to  find  in  the  fit  of  my  skirt  in  the  back. 

As  I  opened  the  door  of  my  room  I  heard 
sounds  as  of  a  violent  altercation  in  progress 
downstairs.  I  leaned  over  the  balusters  and 
listened.  The  sounds  rose  and  fell  and  swelled 
and  boomed.  They  were  German  sounds  that 
started  in  the  throat,  gutturally,  and  spluttered 
their  way  up.  They  were  sounds  such  as  I  had 
not  heard  since  the  night  I  was  sent  to  cover  a 
Socialist  meeting  in  New  York.  I  tip-toed 
down  the  stairs,  although  I  might  have  fallen 
down  and  landed  with  a  thud  without  having 
been  heard.  The  din  came  from  the  direction 
of  the  dining  room.  Well,  come  what  might, 
I  would  not  falter.  After  all,  it  could  not  be 
worse  than  that  awful  time  when  I  had  helped 

[79] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

cover  the  teamsters'  strike.  I  peered  into  the 
dining  room. 

The  thunder  of  conversation  went  on  as  be 
fore.  But  there  was  no  bloodshed.  Nothing 
but  men  and  women  sitting  at  small  tables,  eat 
ing  and  talking.  When  I  say  eating  and  talk 
ing  I  do  not  mean  that  those  acts  were  carried 
on  separately.  Not  at  all.  The  eating  and  the 
talking  went  on  simultaneously,  neither  inter 
rupting  the  other.  A  fork  full  of  food  and  a 
mouthful  of  ten-syllabled  German  words  met, 
wrestled,  and  passed  one  another,  unscathed. 
I  stood  in  the  doorway,  fascinated,  until  Herr 
Knapf  spied  me,  took  a  nimble  skip  in  my  direc 
tion,  twisted  the  discouraged  mustaches  into 
temporary  sprightliness,  and  waved  me  toward 
a  table  in  the  center  of  the  room. 

Then  a  frightful  thing  happened.  When  I 
think  of  it  now  I  turn  cold.  The  battery  was 
not  that  of  women's  eyes,  but  of  men's.  And 
conversation  ceased!  The  uproar  and  the 
booming  of  vowels  was  hushed.  The  silence 
was  appalling.  I  looked  up  in  horror  to  find 
that  what  seemed  to  be  millions  of  staring  blue 
eyes  were  fixed  on  me.  The  stillness  was  so 
thick  that  you  could  cut  it  with  a  knife. 
Such  men !  Immediately  I  dubbed  them  the 
aborigines,  and  prayed  that  I  might  find  ad- 

[so] 


STEEPED  IN  GERMAN 

jectives  with  which  to  describe  their  foreheads. 

It  appeared  that  the  aborigines  were  espe 
cially  favored  in  that  they  were  all  placed  at 
one  long,  untidy  table  at  the  head  of  the  room. 
The  rest  of  us  sat  at  small  tables.  Later  I 
learned  that  they  were  all  engineers.  At  meals 
they  discuss  engineering  problems  in  the  most 
awe-inspiring  German.  After  supper  they 
smoke  impossible  German  pipes  and  dozens  of 
cigarettes.  They  have  bulging,  knobby  fore 
heads  and  bristling  pompadours,  and  some  of 
the  rawest  of  them  wear  wild-looking  beards, 
and  thick  spectacles,  and  cravats  and  trousers 
that  Lew  Fields  never  even  dreamed  of.  They 
are  all  graduates  of  high-sounding  foreign  uni 
versities  and  are  horribly  learned  and  brilliant, 
but  they  are  the  worst  mannered  lot  I  ever  saw. 

In  the  silence  that  followed  my  entrance  a 
red-cheeked  maid  approached  me  and  asked 
what  I  would  have  for  supper.  Supper?  I 
asked.  Was  not  dinner  served  in  the  even 
ing?  The  aborigines  nudged  each  other  and 
sniggered  like  fiendish  little  school-boys. 

The  red-cheeked  maid  looked  at  me  pity 
ingly.  Dinner  was  served  in  the  middle  of  the 
day,  natiirlich.  For  supper  there  was  Wiener- 
schnitzel,  and  kalter  Aufschnitt,  also  Kartoffcl 
Salat,  and  fresh  Kaffeekuchen. 


DAWN  O'HARA 

The  room  hung  breathless  on  my  decision. 
I  wrestled  with  a  horrible  desire  to  shriek  and 
run.  Instead  I  managed  to  mumble  an  order. 
The  aborigines  turned  to  one  another  inquir 
ingly. 

"  Was  hat  sie  gesagt?"  they  asked. 
"  What  did  she  say?"  Whereupon  they  fell 
to  discussing  my  hair  and  teeth  and  eyes  and 
complexion  in  German  as  crammed  with  adjec 
tives  as  was  the  rye  bread  over  which  I  was 
choking  with  caraway.  The  entire  table 
watched  me  with  wide-eyed,  unabashed  interest 
while  I  ate,  and  I  advanced  by  quick  stages 
from  red-faced  confusion  to  purple  mirth.  It 
appeared  that  my  presence  was  the  ground  for 
a  heavy  German  joke  in  connection  with  the 
youngest  of  the  aborigines.  He  was  a  very 
plump  and  greasy  looking  aborigine  with  a  doll- 
like  rosiness  of  cheek  and  a  scared  and  bristling 
pompadour  and  very  small  pig-eyes.  The 
other  aborigines  clapped  him  on  the  back  and 
roared : 

"  Ai    Fritz !     Yetzt    brauchst    du    nicht    zu' 

I 

weinen !     Deine  Lena  war  aber  nicht  so  huebsch, 
eh?" 

Later  I  learned  that  Fritz  was  the  newest  ar 
rival  and  that  since  coming  to  this  country  he 
had  been  rather  low  in  spirits  in  consequence  of 

[82] 


STEEPED  IN  GERMAN 

a  certain  flaxen-haired  Lena  whom  he  had  left 
behind  in  the  fatherland. 

An  examination  of  the  dining  room  and  its 
other  occupants  served  to  keep  my  mind  off 
the  hateful  long  table.  The  dining  room  was 
a  double  one,  the  floor  carpetless  and  clean. 
There  was  a  little  platform  at  one  end  with 
hardy-looking  plants  in  pots  near  the  windows. 
The  wall  was  ornamented  with  very  German  pic 
tures  of  very  plump,  bare-armed  German  girls 
being  chucked  under  the  chin  by  very  dashing, 
mustachioed  German  lieutenants.  It  was  all 
very  bare,  and  strange  and  foreign  to  my  eyes, 
and  yet  there  was  something  bright  and  com 
fortable  about  it.  I  felt  that  I  was  going  to 
like  it,  aborigines  and  all.  The  men  drink  beer 
with  their  supper  and  read  the  Staats-Zeitung 
and  the  Germania  and  foreign  papers  that  I 
never  heard  of.  It  is  uncanny,  in  these  United 
States.  But  it  is  going  to  be  bully  for  my  Ger 
man. 

After  my  first  letter  home  Norah  wrote 
(frantically,  demanding  to  know  if  I  was  the 
only  woman  in  the  house.  I  calmed  her  fears  by 
assuring  her  that,  while  the  men  were  interest 
ing  and  ugly  with  the  fascinating  ugliness  of  a 
bulldog,  the  women  were  crushed  looking  and 
uninteresting  and  wore  hopeless  hats.  I  have 

[83] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

written  Norah  and  Max  reams  about  this  house 
hold,  from  the  aborigines  to  Minna,  who  tidies 
my  room  and  serves  my  meals,  and  admires  my 
clothes.  Minna  is  related  to  Frau  Knapf, 
whom  I  have  never  seen.  Minna  is  inordi 
nately  fond  of  dress,  and  her  remarks  anent  my 
own  garments  are  apt  to  be  a  trifle  disconcert 
ing,  especially  when  she  intersperses  her  recital 
of  dinner  dishes  with  admiring  adjectives  di 
rected  at  my  blouse  or  hat.  Thus: 

'*  Wir  haben  roast  beef,  und  spareribs  mit 
Sauerkraut,  und  schicken  —  ach,  wie  schon, 
Frau  Orme !  Aber  ganz  prachtvoll !  "  Her 
eyes  and  hands  are  raised  toward  heaven. 

"  What's  prachtful?  "  I  ask,  startled.  "  The 
chicken?" 

"  Nein;  your  waist.     Selbst  gemacht?  " 

I  am  even  becoming  hardened  to  the  man 
ners  of  the  aborigines.  It  used  to  fuss  me  to 
death  to  meet  one  of  them  in  the  halls.  They 
always  stopped  short,  brought  heels  together 
with  a  click,  bent  stiffly  from  the  waist,  and 
thundered:  "  Nabben',  Fraulein!  " 

I  have  learned  to  take  the  salutation  quite 
calmly,  and  even  the  wildest,  most  spectacled 
and  knobby-browed  aborigine  cannot  startle 
me.  Nonchalantly  I  reply,  "  Nabben',"  and 
wish  that  Norah  could  but  see  me  in  the  act. 

[84] 


STEEPED  IN  GERMAN 

When  I  told  Ernst  von  Gerhard  about  them, 
he  laughed  a  little  and  shrugged  his  shoulders 
and  said: 

"  Na,  you  should  not  look  so  young,  and  so 
pretty,  and  so  unmarried.  In  Germany  a  mar 
ried  woman  brushes  her  hair  quite  smoothly 
back,  and  pins  it  in  a  hard  knob.  And  she 
knows  nothing  of  such  bewildering  collars  and 
fluffy  frilled  things  in  the  front  of  the  blouse. 
How  do  you  call  them  —  jabots?  " 

Von  Gerhard  has  not  behaved  at  all  nicely. 
I  did  not  see  him  until  two  weeks  after  my  ar 
rival  in  Milwaukee,  although  he  telephoned 
twice  to  ask  if  there  was  anything  that  he  could 
do  to  make  me  comfortable. 

"  Yes,"  I  had  answered  the  last  time  that 
I  heard  his  voice  over  the  telephone.  "  It 
would  be  a  whole  heap  of  comfort  to  me  just 
to  see  you.  You  are  the  nearest  thing  to  Norah 
that  there  is  in  this  whole  German  town,  and 
goodness  knows  you're  far  from  Irish." 

He  came.  The  weather  had  turned  suddenly 
cold  and  he  was  wearing  a  fur-lined  coat  with 
a  collar  of  fur.  He  looked  most  amazingly 
handsome  and  blond  and  splendidly  healthy. 
The  clasp  of  his  hands  was  just  as  big  and  sure 
as  ever. 

'*  You  have  no  idea  how  glad  I  am  to  see 

[85] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

i 

you,"  I  told  him.  "  If  you  had,  you  would 
have  been  here  days  ago.  Aren't  you  rather 
ill-mannered  and  neglectful,  considering  that 
you  are  responsible  for  my  being  here?  " 

"  I  did  not  know  whether  you,  a  married 
woman,  would  care  to  have  me  here,"  he  said,  in 
his  composed  way.  "  In  a  place  like  this  people 
are  not  always  kind  enough  to  take  the  trouble 
to  understand.  And  I  would  not  have  them 
raise  their  eyebrows  at  you,  not  for  — " 

"  Married!  "  I  laughed,  some  imp  of  willful 
ness  seizing  me,  "  I'm  not  married.  What 
mockery  to  say  that  I  am  married  simply  be 
cause  I  must  write  madam  before  my  name ! 
I  am  not  married,  and  I  shall  talk  to  whom  I 
please." 

And  then  Von  Gerhard  did  a  surprising  thing. 
He  took  two  great  steps  over  to  my  chair,  and 
grasped  my  hands  and  pulled  me  to  my  feet. 
I  stared  up  at  him  like  a  silly  creature.  His 
face  was  suffused  with  a  dull  red,  and  his  eyes 
were  unbelievably  blue  and  bright.  He  had 
my  hands  in  his  great  grip,  but  his  voice  was; 
very  quiet  and  contained. 

"  You  are  married,"  he  said.  "  Never  for 
get  that  for  a  moment.  You  are  bound,  hard 
and  fast  and  tight.  And  you  are  for  no  man. 
You  are  married  as  much  as  though  that  poor 
[86] 


STEEPED  IN  GERMAN 

creature  in  the  mad  house  were  here  working 
for  you,  instead  of  the  case  being  reversed  as  it 
is.  So." 

"What  do  you  mean!"  I  cried,  wrenching 
myself  away  indignantly.  "  What  right  have 
you  to  talk  to  me  like  this?  You  know  what 
my  life  has  been,  and  how  I  have  tried  to  smile 
with  my  lips  and  stay  young  in  my  heart!  I 
thought  you  understood.  Norah  thought  so 
too,  and  Max — " 

"  I  do  understand.  I  understand  so  well 
that  I  would  not  have  you  talk  as  you  did  a 
moment  ago.  And  I  said  what  I  said  not  so 
much  for  your  sake,  as  for  mine.  For  see,  I 
too  must  remember  that  you  write  madam  be 
fore  your  name.  And  sometimes  it  is  hard  for 
me  to  remember." 

"  Oh,"  I  said,  like  a  simpleton,  and  stood 
staring  after  him  as  he  quietly  gathered  up  his 
hat  and  gloves  and  left  me  standing  there. 


[87] 


CHAPTER  VII 


BLACKIE'S  PHILOSOPHY 


I  DID  not  write  Norah  about  Von  Gerhard. 
After  all,  I  told  myself,  there  was  nothing 
to  write.     And  so  I  was  the  first  to  break  the 
solemn  pact  that  we  had  made. 

"  You  will  write  everything,  won't  you, 
Dawn  dear?  "  Norah  had  pleaded,  with  tears 
in  her  pretty  eyes.  "  Promise  me.  We've 
been  nearer  to  each  other  in  these  last  few 
months  than  we  have  been  since  we  were  girls. 
And  I've  loved  it  so.  Please  don't  do  as  you 
did  during  those  miserable  years  in  New  York, 
when  you  were  fighting  your  troubles  alone  and 
we  knew  nothing  of  it.  You  wrote  only  the 
happy  things.  Promise  me  you'll  write  the  un 
happy  ones  too  —  though  the  saints  forbid  that 
there  should  be  any  to  write!  And  Dawn, 
don't  you  dare  to  forget  your  heavy  underwear 
in  November.  Those  lake  breezes !  —  Well, 
some  one  has  to  tell  you,  and  I  can't  leave  those 
to  Von  Gerhard.  He  has  promised  to  act  as 
monitor  over  your  health." 
[88] 


BLACKIE'S  PHILOSOPHY 

And  so  I  promised.  I  crammed  my  letters 
with  descriptions  of  the  Knapf  household.  I 
assured  her  that  I  was  putting  on  so  much 
weight  that  the  skirts  which  formerly  hung 
about  me  in  limp,  dejected  folds  now  refused  to 
meet  in  the  back,  and  all  the  hooks  and  eyes 
were  making  faces  at  each  other.  My  cheeks, 
I  told  her,  looked  as  if  I  were  wearing  plump 
ers,  and  I  was  beginning  to  waddle  and  puff  as 
I  walked, 

Norah  made  frantic  answer: 

"  For  mercy's  sake  child,  be  careful  or  you'll 
be  FAT!" 

To  which  I  replied :  "  Don't  care  if  I  am. 
Rather  be  hunky  and  healthy  than  skinny  and 
sick.  Have  tried  both." 

It  is  impossible  to  avoid  becoming  round- 
cheeked  when  one  is  working  on  a  paper  that 
allows  one  to  shut  one's  desk  and  amble  com 
fortably  home  for  dinner  at  least  five  days  in 
the  week.  Everybody  is  at  least  plump  in  this 
comfortable,  gemutlich  town,  where  everybody 
placidly  locks  his  shop  or  office  ami  goes  home 
at  noon  to  dine  heavily  on  soup  and  meat  and 
vegetables  and  pudding,  washed  down  by  the 
inevitable  beer  and  followed  by  forty  winks  on 
the  dining  room  sofa  with  the  German  Zeitung 

[89] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

spread  comfortably  over  the  head  as  protection 
against  the  flies. 

There  is  a  fascination  about  the  bright  little 
city.  There  is  about  it  something  quaint  and 
foreign,  as  though  a  cross-section  of  the  old 
world  had  been  dumped  bodily  into  the  lap  of 
Wisconsin.  It  does  not  seem  at  all  strange  to 
hear  German  spoken  everywhere  —  in  the 
streets,  in  the  shops,  in  the  theaters,  in  the 
street  cars.  One  day  I  chanced  upon  a  sign 
hung  above  the  doorway  of  a  little  German 
bakery  over  on  the  north  side.  There  were 
Hornchen  and  Kaffeekuchen  in  the  windows, 
and  a  brood  of  flaxen-haired  and  sticky  chil 
dren  in  the  back  of  the  shop.  I  stopped,  open- 
mouthed,  to  stare  at  the  worn  sign  tacked 
over  the  door. 

"  Hier  wird  Englisch  gesprochen"  it  an 
nounced. 

I  blinked.  Then  I  read  it  again.  I  shut 
my  eyes,  and  opened  them  again  suddenly. 
^The  fat  German  letters  spoke  their  message  as 
before  — "  English  spoken  here." 

On  reaching  the  office  I  told  Norberg,  the 
city  editor,  about  my  find.  He  was  not  im 
pressed.  Norberg  never  is  impressed.  He  is 
the  most  soul-satisfying  and  theatrical  city 
editor  that  I  have  ever  met.  He  is  fat,  and 

[90] 


BLACKIE'S  PHILOSOPHY 

unbelievably  nimble,  and  keen-eyed,  and  untir 
ing.  He  says,  "Hell!"  when  things  go- 
wrong;  he  smokes  innumerable  cigarettes,  in 
haling  the  fumes  and  sending  out  the  thin 
wraith  of  smoke  with  little  explosive  sounds  be 
tween  tongue  and  lips;  he  wears  blue  shirts, 
and  no  collar  to  speak  of,  and  his  trousers  are 
kept  in  place  only  by  a  miracle  and  an  inefficient 
looking  leather  belt. 

When  he  refused  to  see  the  story  in  the  little 
German  bakery  sign  I  began  to  argue. 

"  But  man  alive,  this  is  America  I  I  think 
I  know  a  story  when  I  see  it.  Suppose  you 
were  traveling  in  Germany,  and  should  come 
across  a  sign  over  a  shop,  saying:  ' Hier  wird 
Deutsch  gesprochen!  Wouldn't  you  think  you 
were  dreaming?  " 

Norberg  waved  an  explanatory  hand.. 
"  This  isn't  America.  This  is  Milwaukee. 
After  you've  lived  here  a  year  or  so  you'll  un 
derstand  what  I  mean.  If  we  should  run  a 
story  of  that  sign,  with  a  two-column  cut,  Mil 
waukee  wouldn't  even  see  the  joke." 

But  it  was  not  necessary  that  I  live  in  Mil 
waukee  a  year  or  so  in  order  to  understand  its 
peculiarities,  for  I  had  a  personal  conductor 
and  efficient  guide  in  the  new  friend  that  had 
eome  into  my  life  with  the  first  day  of  my  work 

[91] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

on  the  Post.  Surely  no  woman  ever  had  a 
stronger  friend  than  little  "  Blackie  "  Griffith, 
sporting  editor  of  the  Milwaukee  Post.  We 
became  friends,  not  step  by  step,  but  in  one 
gigantic  leap  such  as  sometimes  triumphs  over 
the  gap  between  acquaintance  and  liking. 

I  never  shall  forget  my  first  glimpse  of  him. 
He  strolled  into  the  city  room  from  his  little 
domicile  across  the  hall.  A  shabby,  disrepu 
table,  out-at-elbows  office  coat  was  worn  over 
his  ultra-smart  street  clothes,  and  he  was  puf 
fing  at  a  freakish  little  pipe  in  the  shape  of  a 
miniature  automobile.  He  eyed  me  a  moment 
from  the  doorway,  a  fantastic,  elfin  little 
figure.  I  thought  that  I  had  never  seen  so 
strange  and  so  ugly  a  face  as  that  of  this  little 
brown  Welshman  with  his  lank,  black  hair  and 
his  deep-set,  uncanny  black  eyes.  Suddenly  he 
trotted  over  to  me  with  a  quick  little  step.  In 
the  doorway  he  had  looked  forty.  Now  a 
smile  illumined  the  many  lines  of  his  dark 
countenance,  and  in  some  miraculous  way  he 
looked  twenty. 

"Are  you  the  New  York  importation?  "  hb 
asked,  his  great  black  eyes  searching  my  face. 

"  I'm  what's  left  of  it,"  I  replied,  meekly. 

"  I  understand  you've  been  in  for  repairs. 
Must  of  met  up  with  somethin'  on  the  road. 

[92] 


BLACKIE'S  PHILOSOPHY 

They  say  the  goin'  is  full  of  bumps  in  N* 
York." 

"  Bumps!  "  I  laughed,  "  it's  uphill  every  bit 
of  the  road,  and  yet  you've  got  to  go  full  speed 
to  get  anywhere.  But  I'm  running  easily  again, 
thank  you." 

He  waved  away  a  cloud  of  pipe-smoke,  and 
knowingly  squinted  through  the  haze.  "  We 
don't  speed  up  much  here.  And  they  ain't  no 
hill  climbin'  t'  speak  of.  But  say,  if  you  ever 
should  hit  a  nasty  place  on  the  route,  toot  your 
siren  for  me  and  I'll  come.  I'm  a  regular  lit 
tle  human  garage  when  it  comes  to  patchin'  up 
those  aggravatin'  screws  that  need  oilin'. 
And,  say,  don't  let  Norberg  bully  you.  My 
name's  Blackie.  I'm  goin'  t'  like  you.  Come 
on  over  t'  my  sanctum  once  in  a  while  and  I'll 
show  you  my  scrapbook  and  let  you  play  with 
the  office  revolver." 

And  so  it  happened  that  I  had  not  been  in 
Milwaukee  a  month  before  Blackie  and  I  were 
friends. 

Norah  was  horrified.  My  letters  were  full 
of  him.  I  told  her  that  she  might  get  a  more 
complete  mental  picture  of  him  if  she  knew 
that  he  wore  the  pinkest  shirts,  and  the  purplest 
neckties,  and  the  blackest  and  whitest  of  black- 
and-white  checked  vests  that  ever  aroused  the 

[93] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

envy  of  an  office  boy,  and  beneath  them  all, 
the  gentlest  of  hearts.  And  therefore  one 
loves  him.  There  is  a  sort  of  spell  about  the 
illiterate  little  slangy,  brown  Welshman.  He 
is  the  presiding  genius  of  the  place.  The 
office  boys  adore  him.  The  Old  Man  takes  his 
advice  in  selecting  a  new  motor  car;  the  man 
aging  editor  arranges  his  lunch  hour  to  suit 
Blackie's  and  they  go  off  to  the  Press  club  to 
gether,  arm  in  arm.  It  is  Blackie  who  lends 
.a  sympathetic  ear  to  the  society  editor's  tale 
of  woe.  He  hires  and  fires  the  office  boys; 
boldly  he  criticizes  the  news  editor's  makeup ; 
he  receives  delegations  of  tan-coated,  red- 
faced  prizefighting-looking  persons;  he  gently 
explains  *o  the  photographer  why  that  last 
batch  of  cuts  make  their  subjects  look  as  if 
afflicted  with  the  German  measles ;  he  arbitrates 
any  row  that  the  newspaper  may  have  with  such 
dignitaries  as  the  mayor  or  the  chief  of  police; 
he  manages  boxing  shows;  he  skims  about  in  a 
smart  little  roadster;  he  edits  the  best  sporting 
page  in  the  city;  and  at  four  o'clock  of  an  after 
noon  he  likes  to  send  around  the  corner  for  a 
chunk  of  devil's  food  cake  with  butter  filling 
from  the  Woman's  Exchange.  Blackie  never 
went  to  school  to  speak  of.  He  doesn't  know 
was  from  were.  But  he  can  "  see  "  a  story 
[94] 


BLACKIE'S  PHILOSOPHY 

quicker,  and  farther  and  clearer  than  any  news 
paper  man  I  ever  knew  —  excepting  Peter 
Orme. 

There  is  a  legend  about  to  the  effect  that  one 
day  the  managing  editor,  who  is  Scotch  and 
without  a  sense  of  humor,  ordered  that  Blackie 
should  henceforth  be  addressed  by  his  surname 
of  Griffith,  as  being  a  more  dignified  appella 
tion  for  the  use  of  fellow  reporters,  hangers-on, 
copy  kids,  office  boys  and  others  about  the  big 
building. 

The  day  after  the  order  was  issued  the  man 
aging  editor  summoned  a  freckled  youth,  and 
thrust  a  sheaf  of  galley  proofs  into  his  hand. 

"  Take  those  to  Mr.  Griffith,"  he  ordered 
without  looking  up. 

"T  who?" 

"  To  Mr.  Griffith,"  said  the  managing  editor, 
laboriously,  and  scowling  a  bit. 

The  boy  took  three  unwilling  steps  toward  the 
door.  Then  he  turned  a  puzzled  face  toward 
the  managing  editor. 

"  Say,  honest,  I  ain't  never  heard  of  dat  guy. 
He  must  be  a  new  one.  Were '11  I  find  him?  " 

"  Oh,  damn!  Take  those  proofs  to 
Blackie !  "  roared  the  managing  editor.  And 
thus  ended  Blackie's  enforced  flight  into  the 
realms  of  dignity. 

095] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

All  these  things,  and  more,  I  wrote  to  the 
scandalized  Norah.  I  informed  her  that  he 
wore  more  diamond  rings  and  scarf  pins  and 
watch  fobs  than  a  railroad  conductor,  and  that 
his  checked  top-coat  shrieked  to  Heaven. 

There  came  back  a  letter  in  which  every  third 
word  was  underlined,  and  which  ended  by  ask 
ing  what  the  morals  of  such  a  man  could  be. 

Then  I  tried  to  make  Blackie  more  real  to 
Norah  who,  in  all  her  sheltered  life,  had  never 
come  in  contact  with  a  man  like  this. 

.  .  .  As  for  his  morals  —  or  what  you 
would  consider  his  morals,  Sis  —  they  probably 
are  a  deep  crimson ;  but  I'll  swear  there  is  no  yel 
low  streak.  I  never  have  heard  anything  more 
pathetic  than  his  story.  Blackie  sold  papers  on 
a  down-town  corner  when  he  was  a  baby  six 
years  old.  Then  he  got  a  job  as  office  boy  here, 
and  he  used  to  sharpen  pencils,  and  run  errands, 
and  carry  copy.  After  office  hours  he  took  care 
of  some  horses  in  an  alley  barn  near  by,  and 
after  that  work  was  done  he  was  employed  about 
the  pressroom  of  one  of  the  old  German  news 
paper  offices.  Sometimes  he  would  be  too 
weary  to  crawl  home  after  working  half  the 
night,  and  so  he  would  fall  asleep,  a  worn, 
tragic  little  figure,  on  a  pile  of  old  papers  and 
sacks  in  a  warm  corner  near  the  presses.  He 

[96] 


BLACKIE'S  PHILOSOPHY 

was  the  head  of  a  household,  and  every  penny 
counted.  And  all  the  time  he  was  watching 
things,  and  learning.  Nothing  escaped  those 
keen  black  eyes.  He  used  to  help  the  photog 
rapher  when  there  was  a  pile  of  plates  to  de 
velop,  and  presently  he  knew  more  about  pho 
tography  than  the  man  himself.  So  they  made 
him  staff  photographer.  In  some  marvelous 
way  he  knew  more  ball  players,  and  fighters  and 
horsemen  than  the  sporting  editor.  He  had 
a  nose  for  news  that  was  nothing  short  of  won 
derful.  He  never  went  out  of  the  office  with 
out  coming  back  with  a  story.  They  used  to 
use  him  in  the  sporting  department  when  a  rush 
was  on.  Then  he  became  one  of  the  sporting 
staff;  then  assistant  sporting  editor;  then  sport 
ing  editor.  He  knows  this  paper  from  the  base 
ment  up.  He  could  operate  a  linotype  or  act  as 
managing  editor  with  equal  ease. 

"No,  I'm  afraid  that  Blackie  hasn't  had 
much  time  for  morals.  But,  Norah  dear,  I  wish 
that  you  could  hear  him  when  he  talks  about  his 
mother.  He  may  follow  doubtful  paths,  and 
•associate  with  questionable  people,  and  wear 
restless  clothes,  but  I  wouldn't  exchange  his 
friendship  for  that  of  a  dozen  of  your  ordinary 
so-called  good  men.  All  these  years  of  work 
and  suffering  have  made  an  old  man  of  little 

[97] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

Blackie,  although  he  is  young  in  years.  But 
they  haven't  spoiled  his  heart  any.  He  is  able 
to  distinguish  between  sham  and  truth  because 
he  has  been  obliged  to  do  it  ever  since  he  was 
a  child  selling  papers  on  the  corner.  But  he 
still  clings  to  the  office  that  gave  him  his  start, 
although  he  makes  more  money  in  a  single  week 
outside  the  office  than  his  salary  would  amount 
to  in  half  a  year.  He  says  that  this  is  a  job 
that  does  not  interfere  with  his  work." 

Such  is  Blackie.  Surely  the  oddest  friend  a 
woman  ever  had.  He  possesses  a  genius  for 
friendship,  and  a  wonderful  understanding  of 
suffering,  born  of  those  years  of  hardship  and 
privation.  Each  learned  the  other's  story,  bit 
by  bit,  in  a  series  of  confidences  exchanged  dur 
ing  that  peaceful,  beatific  period  that  follows 
just  after  the  last  edition  has  gone  down. 
Blackie's  little  cubby-hole  of  an  office  is  always 
blue  with  smoke,  and  cluttered  with  a  thousand 
odds  and  ends  —  photographs,  souvenirs,  box 
ing-gloves,  a  litter  of  pipes  and  tobacco,  a  ward 
robe  of  dust-covered  discarded  coats  and  hats, 
and  Blackie  in  the  midst  of  it  all,  sunk  in  the 
depths  of  his  swivel  chair,  and  looking  like 
an  amiable  brown  gnome,  or  a  cheerful  little 
joss-house  god  come  to  life.  There  is  in  him 
an  uncanny  wisdom  which  only  the  streets  can 

[98] 


BLACKIE'S  PHILOSOPHY 

teach.  He  is  one  of  those  born  newspaper  men 
who  could  not  live  out  of  sight  of  the  ticker-tape, 
and  the  copy-hook  and  the  proof-sheet. 

"Y'  see,  girl,  it's  like  this  here,"  Blackie 
explained  one  day.  "  W're  all  workin'  for 
some  good  reason.  A  few  of  us  are  workin'  for 
the  glory  of  it,  and  most  of  us  are  workin'  t'  eat, 
and  lots  of  us  are  pluggin'  an'  savin'  in  the 
hopes  that  some  day  we'll  have  money  enough 
to  get  back  at  some  people  we  know;  but  there 
is  some  few  workin'  for  the  pure  love  of  the 
work  —  and  I  guess  I'm  one  of  them  fools.  Y' 
see,  I  started  in  at  this  game  when  I  was  such 
a  little  runt  that  now  it's  a  ingrowing  habit, 
though  it  is  comfortin'  t'  know  you  got  a  place 
where  you  c'n  always  come  in  out  of  the  rain, 
and  where  you  c'n  have  your  mail  sent.'* 

"  This  newspaper  work  is  a  curse,"  I  re 
marked.  "  Show  me  a  clever  newspaper  man 
and  I'll  show  you  a  failure.  There  is  nothing 
in  it  but  the  glory  —  and  little  of  that.  We 
contrive  and  scheme  and  run  about  all  day  get 
ting  a  story.  And  then  we  write  it  at  fever  heat, 
searching  our  souls  for  words  that  are  clean- 
cut  and  virile.  And  then  we  turn  it  in,  and 
what  is  it?  What  have  we  to  show  for  our 
day's  work?  An  ephemeral  thijig,  lacking  the 
first  breath  of  life;  a  thing  that  is  dead  before 
[99] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

it  is  born.  Why,  any  cub  reporter,  if  he  were 
to  put  into  some  other  profession  the  same 
amount  of  nerve,  and  tact,  and  ingenuity  and 
finesse,  and  stick-to-it-iveness  that  he  expends* 
in  prying  a  single  story  out  of  some  unwilling 
victim,  could  retire  with  a  fortune  in  no 


time." 


Blackie  blew  down  the  stem  of  his  pipe,  pre 
paratory  to  re-filling  the  bowl.  There  was  a 
quizzical  light  in  his  black  eyes.  The  little  heap 
of  burned  matches  at  his  elbow  was  growing  to 
kindling  wood  proportions.  It  was  common 
knowledge  that  Blackie's  trick  of  lighting  pipe 
or  cigarette  and  then  forgetting  to  puff  at  it 
caused  his  bill  for  matches  to  exceed  his  tobacco 
expense  account. 

"You  talk,"  chuckled  Blackie,  "like  you 
meant  it.  But  sa-a-ay,  girl,  it's  a  lonesome 
game,  this  retirin'  with  a  fortune.  I've  noticed 
that  them  guys  who  retire  with  a  barrel  of 
money  usually  dies  at  the  end  of  the  first  year,  of 
a  kind  of  a  lingerin'  homesickness.  You  c'n 
see  their  pictures  in  th'  papers,  with  a  pathetic 
story  of  how  they  was  just  beginnin'  t'  enjoy  life 
when  along  comes  the  grim  reaper  an'  claims 


'em." 


Blackie  slid  down  in  his  chair  and  blew  a 
column  of  smoke  ceilingward. 
[100] 


BLACKIE'S  PHILOSOPHY 

"  I  knew  a  guy  once  - —  newspaper  man,  too 
—  who  retired  with  a  fortune.  He  used  to  do 
the  city  hall  for  us.  Well,  he  got  in  soft  with 
the  new  administration  before  election,  and 
made  quite  a  pile  in  stocks  that  was  ppp.zd  ofi 
to  him  by  his  political  friends.  His  wife, was 
crazy  for  him  to  quit  the  newspaper  game.  •> ,  He. 
done  it.  An'  say,  that  guy  kept  on  gettin' 
richer  and  richer  till  even  his  wife  was  almost 
satisfied.  But  sa-a-ay,  girl,  was  that  chap  lone 
some!  One  day  he  come  up  here  looking  like 
a  dog  that's  run  off  with  the  steak.  He  was  just 
dyin'  for  a  kind  word,  an'  he  sniffed  the  smell 
of  the  ink  and  the  hot  metal  like  it  was  June 
roses.  He  kind  of  wanders  over  to  his  old  desk 
and  slumps  down  in  the  chair,  and  tips  it  back, 
and  puts  his  feet  on  the  desk,  with  his  hat  tipped 
back,  and  a  bum  stogie  in  his  mouth.  And 
along  came  a  kid  with  a  bunch  of  papers  wet 
from  the  presses  and  sticks  one  in  his  hand, 
and  —  well,  girl,  that  fellow,  he  just  wriggled 
he  was  so  happy.  You  know  as  well  as  I  do 
that  every  man  on  a  morning  paper  spends  his 
day  off  hanging  around  the  office  wishin'  that 
a  mob  or  a  fire  or  somethin'  big  would  tear  lose 
so  he  could  get  back  into  the  game.  I  guess 
I  told  you  about  the  time  Von  Gerhard  sent  me 
!  abroad,  didn't  I?" 

[101] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

"  Von  Gerhard !  "  I  repeated,  startled.  "  Do 
you  know  him?  " 

"  Well,  he  ain't  braggin'  about  it  none," 
Blackie  admitted.  "  Von  Gerhard,  he  told  me 
I  had  about  ;five  years  or  so  t'  live,  about  two, 
.three  years  ago..  He  don't  approve  of  me. 
Pried  into  my  private  life,  old  Von  Gerhard  did, 
somethin'  scand'lous.  I  had  sort  of  went  to 
pieces  about  that  time,  and  I  went  t'  him  to  be 
patched  up.  He  thumps  me  fore  'an'  aft,  firing 
a  volley  of  questions,  lookin'  up  the  roof  of  m' 
mouth,  and  squintin'  at  m'  ringer  nails  an'  teeth 
like  I  was  a  prize  horse  for  sale.  Then  he  sits 
still,  lookin'  at  me  for  about  half  a  minute,  till 
I  begin  t'  feel  uncomfortable.  Then  he  says, 
slow:  '  Young  man,  how  old  are  you?' 

"  c  O,  twenty-eight  or  so,'  I  says,  airy. 

"  '  My  Gawd!  '  said  he.  '  You've  crammed 
twice  those  years  into  your  life,  and  you'll  have 
to  pay  for  it.  Now  you  listen  t'  me.  You  get 
t'  quit  workin',  an'  smokin',  and  get  away  from 
this.  Take  a  ocean  voyage,'  he  says,  '  an'  try  to 
get  four  hours  sleep  a  night,  anyway.' 

"  Well  say,  mother  she  was  scared  green.     So 

I  tucked  her  under  m'  arm,  and  we  hit  it  up 

across  the  ocean.     Went  t'  Germany,  knowin' 

that  it  would  feel  homelike  there,  an'  we  took  in 

[102] 


BLACKIE'S  PHILOSOPHY 

all  the  swell  baden,  and  chased  up  the  Jungfrau 
—  sa-a-ay,  that's  a  classy  little  mountain,  that 
Jungfrau.  Mother,  she  had  some  swell  time  I 
guess.  She  never  set  down  except  for  meals, 
and  she  wrote  picture  postals  like  mad.  But 
sa-a-ay,  girl,  was  I  lonesome !  Maybe  that  trip 
done  me  good.  Anyway,  I'm  livin'  yet.  I 
stuck  it  out  for  four  months,  an'  that  ain't  so 
rotten  for  a  guy  who  just  grew  up  on  printer's 
ink  ever  since  he  was  old  enough  to  hold  a 
bunch  of  papers  under  his  arm.  Well,  one  day 
mother  an'  me  was  sittin'  out  on  one  of  them 
veranda  cafes  they  run  to  over  there,  w'en  some 
body  hits  me  a  crack  on  the  shoulder,  an'  there 
stands  old  Ryan  who  used  t'  do  A.  P.  here.  He 
was  foreign  correspondent  for  some  big  New 
York  syndicate  papers  over  there. 

"  '  Well  if  it  ain't  Blackie !  '  he  says.  '  What 
in  Sam  Hill  are  you  doing  out  of  your  own  cell 
when  Milwaukee's  just  got  four  more  games  t' 
win  the  pennant?  J 

"  Sa-a-a-ay,  girl,  w'en  I  got  through  huggin* 
him  around  the  neck  an'  buyin'  him  drinks  I 
knew  it  was  me  for  the  big  ship.  *  Mother,'  I 
says,  *  if  you  got  anybody  on  your  mind  that 
you  neglected  t'  send  picture  postals  to,  now's 
your  last  chance.  'F  I  got  to  die  I'm  going 
[103] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

out  with  m*  scissors  in  one  mitt,  and  m'  trusty 
paste-pot  by  m'  side !  '  An'  we  hits  it  up  for 
old  Milwaukee.  I  ain't  been  away  since,  except 
w'en  I  was  out  with  the  ball  team,  sending  in 
sportin'  extry  dope  for  the  pink  sheet.  The  last 
time  I  was  in  at  Baumbach's  in  comes  Von  Ger 
hard  an'—" 

"  Who  are  Baumbach's?  "  I  interrupted. 

Blackie  regarded  me  pityingly.  "  You  ain't 
never  been  to  Baumbach's?  Why  girl,  if  you 
don't  know  Baumbach's,  you  ain't  never  been 
properly  introduced  to  Milwaukee.  No  wonder 
you  ain't  hep  to  the  ways  of  this  little  com 
munity.  There  ain't  what  the  s'ciety  editor 
would  call  the  proper  ontong  cordyal  between 
you  and  the  natives  if  you  haven't  had  coffee  at 
Baumbach's.  It  ain't  hardly  legal  t'  live  in  Mil 
waukee  all  this  time  without  ever  having  been 
inside  of  B— " 

"  Stop  1  If  you  do  not  tell  me  at  once  just 
where  this  wonderful  place  may  be  found,  and 
what  one  does  when  one  finds  it,  and  how  I  hap 
pened  to  miss  it,  and  why  it  is  so  necessary  to  the 
proper  understanding  of  the  city — " 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll   do,"    said   Blackie, 
grinning,  "  I'll  romp  you  over  there  to-morrow 
afternoon    at    four    o'clock.     Ach     Himmel! 
What  will  that  for  a  grand  time  be,  no?  " 
[104] 


BLACKIE'S  PHILOSOPHY 

"  Blackie,  you're  a  dear  to  be  so  polite  to  an 
old  married  cratur'  like  me.  Did  you  notice 
—  that  is,  does  Ernst  von  Gerhard  drop  in  ofteri 
at  Baumbach's?" 


[105] 


CHAPTER  VIII 

KAFFEE   AND   KAFFEEKUCHEN 

T  HAVE  visited  Baumbach's.  I  have  heard 
•*•  Milwaukee  drinking  its  afternoon  Kaffee. 

O  Baumbach's,  with  your  deliciously  crum 
bling  butter  cookies  and  your  kaffee  kuchen,  and 
your  thick  cream,  and  your  thicker  waitresses 
and  your  cockroaches,  and  your  dinginess  and 
your  dowdy  German  ladies  and  your  black,  black 
Kaffee,  where  in  this  country  is  there  another  like 
you! 

Blackie,  true  to  his  promise,  had  hailed  me 
from  the  doorway  on  the  afternoon  of  the  fol 
lowing  day.  In  the  rush  of  the  day's  work  I 
had  quite  forgotten  about  Blackie  and  Baum 
bach's. 

"  Come,  Kindchen!  "  he  called.  "  Get  your 
bonnet  on.  We  will  by  Baumbach's  go,  no?  " 

Ruefully  I  gazed  at  the  grimy  cuffs  of  my 
blouse,  and  felt  of  my  dishevelled  hair.  "  Oh, 
I'm  afraid  I  can't  go.  I  look  so  mussy. 
Haven't  had  time  to  brush  up." 

"  Brush  up  I  "  scoffed  Blackie,  "  the  only  thing 
[106] 


KAFFEE  AND  KAFFEEKUCHEN 

about  you  that  will  need  brushin'  up  is  your  Ger 
man.  I  was  goin'  t'  warn  you  to  rumple  up 
your  hair  a  little  so  you  wouldn't  feel  over 
dressed  w'en  you  got  there.  Come  on,  girl." 

And  so  I  came.  And  oh,  I'm  so  glad  I 
came! 

I  must  have  passed  it  a  dozen  times  without 
once  noticing  it  —  just  a  dingy  little  black  shop 
nestling  between  two  taller  buildings,  almost 
within  the  shadow  of  the  city  hall.  Over  the 
sidewalk  swung  a  shabby  black  sign  with  gilt 
letters  that  spelled,  "  Franz  Baumbach." 

Blackie  waved  an  introductory  hand  in  the 
direction  of  the  sign.  "  There  he  is.  That's 
all  you'M  ever  see  of  him." 

"  Dead?  "  asked  I,  regretfully,  as  we  entered 
the  narrow  doorway. 

"No;  down  in  the  basement  baking  Kaffee- 
kuchen." 

Two  tiny  show-windows  faced  the  street  — -. 
such  queer,  old-fashioned  windows  in  these  days 
of  plate  glass.     At  the  back  they  were  quite  oper 
to  the  shop,  and  in  one  of  them  reposed  a  huge 
white,  immovable  structure  —  a  majestic,  heavy 
nutty,  surely  indigestible  birthday  cake.    Arouna 
its  edge  were  flutings  and  scrolls  of  white  icing, 
and  on  its  broad  breast  reposed  cherries,  and 
stout  butterflies  of  jelly,  and  cunning  traceries  of 
[107] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

colored  sugar.  It  was  quite  the  dressiest  cake  I 
had  ever  beheld  Surely  no  human  hand  could 
be  wanton  enough  to  guide  a  knife  through  all 
that  magnificence.  But  in  the  center  of  all  this 
splendor  was  an  inscription  in  heavy  white  letters 
of  icing:  "  Charlottens  Geburtstag." 

Reluctantly  I  tore  my  gaze  from  this  impos 
ing  example  of  the  German  confectioner's  art, 
for  Blackie  was  tugging  impatiently  at  my  sleeve. 

"  But  Blackie,"  I  marveled,  "  do  you  honestly 
suppose  that  that  structure  is  intended  for  some 
Charlotte's  birthday?  " 

"  In  Milwaukee,"  explained  Blackie,  "  w'en 
you  got  a  birthday  you  got  t'  have  a  geburtstag 
cake,  with  your  name  on  it,  and  all  the  cousins 
and  aunts  and  members  of  the  North  Side 
Frauen  Turner  Verein  Gesellchaft  in  for  the 
day.  It  ain't  considered  decent  if  you  don't. 
Are  you  ready  to  fight  your  way  into  the  main 
tent?  " 

It  was  holiday  time,  and  the  single  narrow 
aisle  of  the  front  shop  was  crowded.  It  was 
mot  easy  to  elbow  one's  way  through  the  packed 
"little  space.  Men  and  women  were  ordering 
recklessly  of  the  cakes  of  every  description  that 
were  heaped  in  cases  and  on  shelves. 

Cakes !  What  a  pale,  dry  name  to  apply  to 
those  crumbling,  melting,  indigestible  German 
[108] 


KAFFEE  AND  KAFFEEKUCHEN 

confections!  Blackie  grinned  with  enjoyment 
while  I  gazed.  There  were  cakes  the  like  of 
which  I  had  never  seen  and  of  which  I  did 
not  even  know  the  names.  There  were  little 
round  cup  cakes  made  of  almond  paste  that  melts 
in  the  mouth ;  there  were  Schnecken  glazed  with 
a  delicious  candied  brown  sugar;  there  were  Bis- 
marcks  composed  of  layer  upon  layer  of  flaky 
crust  inlaid  with  an  oozy  custard  that  evades  the 
eager  consumer  at  the  first  bite,  and  that  slides 
down  one's  collar  when  chased  with  a  pursuing 
tongue.  There  were  Pf effermisse ;  there  were 
Lebkuchen;  there  were  cheese-kuchen ;  plum-ku- 
chen,  peach-kuchen,  Apfelkuchen,  the  juicy  fruit 
stuck  thickly  into  the  crust,  the  whole  dusted 
over  with  powdered  sugar.  There  were  Tor- 
ten,  and  Hornchen,  and  butter  cookies. 

Blackie  touched  my  arm,  and  I  tore  my  gaze 
from  a  cherry-studded  Schaumtorte  that  was  be 
ing  reverently  packed  for  delivery. 

"  My,  what  a  greedy  girl !  Now  get  your 
mind  all  made  up.  This  is  your  chance.  You 
know  you're  supposed  t'  take  a  slant  at  th'  things 
an'  make  up  your  mind  w'at  you  want  before 
you  go  back  w'ere  th'  tables  are.  Don't  fumble 
this  thing.  When  Olga  or  Minna  comes  wad- 
dim'  up  t'  you  an'  says:  ' Nu,  Frdulein? '  you 
gotta  tell  her  whether  your  heart  says  plum- 
[109] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

kuchen  oder  Nusstorte,  or  both,  see?  Just 
like  that.  Now  make  up  your  mind.  I'd  hate 
t'  have  you  blunder.  Have  you  decided?  " 

"  Decided !  How  can  I  ?  "  I  moaned,  watch- 
ling  a  black-haired,  black-eyed  Alsatian  girl  be 
hind  the  counter  as  she  rolled  a  piece  of  white 
paper  into  a  cone  and  dipped  a  spoonful  of 
whipped  cream  from  a  great  brown  bowl  heaped 
high  with  the  snowy  stuff.  She  filled  the  paper 
cone,  inserted  the  point  of  it  into  one  end  of  a 
hollow  pastry  horn,  and  gently  squeezed. 
Presto!  A  cream-filled  Hornchen ! 

"  Oh,  Blackie!  "  I  gasped.  "  Come  on.  1 
want  to  go  in  and  eat." 

As  we  elbowed  our  way  to  the  rear  room 
separated  from  the  front  shop  only  by  a  flimsy 
wooden  partition,  I  expected  I  know  not  what. 

But  surely  this  was  not  Blackie's  much- 
vaunted  Baumbach's !  This  long,  narrow,  dingy 
room,  with  its  bare  floor  and  its  iron-legged 
tables  whose  bare  marble  tops  were  yellow  with 
age  and  use !  I  said  nothing  as  we  seated  our 
selves.  Blackie  was  watching  me  out  of  the 
tail  of  his  eye.  My  glance  wandered  about  the 
shabby,  smoke-filled  room,  and  slowly  and  surely 
the  charm  of  that  fusty,  dingy  little  cafe  came 
upon  me. 

A  huge  stove  glowed  red  in  one  corner.     On 


KAFFEE  AND  KAFFEEKUCHEN 

the  wall  behind  the  stove  was  suspended  a 
wooden  rack,  black  with  age,  its  compartments 
holding  German,  Austrian  and  Hungarian  news 
papers.  Against  the  opposite  wall  stood  an  an- 
!cient  walnut  mirror,  and  above  it  hung  a  colored 
print  of  Bismarck,  helmeted,  uniformed,  and 
fiercely  mustached.  The  clumsy  iron-legged 
tables  stood  in  two  solemn  rows  down  the  length 
of  the  narrow  room.  Three  or  four  stout, 
blond  girls  plodded  back  and  forth,  from  tables 
to  front  shop,  bearing  trays  of  cakes  and  steam 
ing  cups  of  coffee.  There  was  a  rumble  and 
clatter  of  German.  Every  one  seemed  to  know 
every  one  else.  A  game  of  chess  was  in  progress 
at  one  table,  and  between  moves  each  contest 
ant  would  refresh  himself  with  a  long-drawn, 
sibilant  mouthful  of  coffee.  There  was  nothing 
about  the  place  or  its  occupants  to  remind  one  of 
America.  This  dim,  smoky,  cake-scented  cafe 
was  Germany. 

"  Time !  "  said  Blackie.  "  Here  comes  Rosie 
to  take  our  order.  You  can  take  your  choice 
of  coffee  or  chocolate.  That's  as  fancy  as  they 
get  here." 

An  expansive  blond  girl  paused  at  our  table 
smiling  a  broad  welcome  at  Blackie. 

"  Wie  geht's,  Roschen?  "  he  greeted  her. 

Roschen's  smile  became  still  more  pervasive, 


DAWN  O'HARA 

so  that  her  blue  eyes  disappeared  in  creases  of 
good  humor.  She  wiped  the  marble  table  top 
with  a  large  and  careless  gesture  that  precipi 
tated  stray  crumbs  into  our  laps.  "  Gut !  "  mur 
mured  she,  coyly,  and  leaned  one  hand  on  a 
portly  hip  in  an  attitude  of  waiting. 

"  Coffee?  "  asked  Blackie,  turning  to  me.  I 
nodded. 

"  Zweimal  Kaffee  ?  "  beamed  Roschen,  grasp 
ing  the  idea. 

"  Now's  your  time  to  speak  up,"  urged 
Blackie.  u  Go  ahead  an'  order  all  the  cream 
gefillte  things  that  looked  good  to  you  out  in 
front." 

But  I  leaned  forward,  lowering  my  voice  dis 
creetly.  "  Blackie,  before  I  plunge  in  too  reck 
lessly,  tell  me,  are  their  prices  yery — " 

"  Sa-a-ay,  child,  you  just  can't  spend  half  a 
dollar  here  if  you  try.  The  flossiest  kind  of 
thing  they  got  is  only  ten  cents  a  order.  They'll 
smother  you  in  whipped  cream  f'r  a  quarter. 
You  c'n  come  in  here  an'  eat  an'  eat  an*  put 
away  piles  of  cakes  till  you  feel  like  a  combina 
tion  of  Little  Jack  Horner  an'  old  Doc  Johnson. 
An'  w'en  you're  all  through,  they  hand  yuh  your 
check,  an',  say  —  it  says  forty-five  cents.  You 
can't  beat  it,  so  wade  right  in  an'  spoil  your 
complexion." 

[112] 


KAFFEE  AND  KAFFEEKUCHEN 

With  enthusiasm  I  turned  upon  the  patient 
Rosie.  "  O,  bring  me  some  of  those  cunning 
little  round  things  with  the  cream  on  'em, 
you  know  —  two  of  those,  eh  Blackie  ?  And 
a  couple  of  those  with  the  flaky  crust  and  the 
custard  between,  and  a  slice  of  that  fluffy-look 
ing  cake  and  some  of  those  funny  cocked-hat 
shaped  cookies — " 

But  a  pall  of  bewilderment  was  slowly  set 
tling  over  Rosie's  erstwhile  smiling  face.  Her 
plump  shoulders  went  up  in  a  helpless  shrug,  and 
she  turned  her  round  blue  eyes  appealingly  to 
Blackie. 

"  Was  meint  sie  alles?  "  she  asked. 

So  I  began  all  over  again,  with  the  assistance 
of  Blackie.  We  went  into  minute  detail.  We 
made  elaborate  gestures.  We  drew  pictures  of 
our  desired  goodies  on  the  marble-topped  table, 
using  a  soft-lead  pencil.  Rosie's  countenance 
wore  a  distracted  look.  In  desperation  I  was 
about  to  accompany  her  to  the  crowded  shop, 
there  to  point  out  my  chosen  dainties  when  sud- 
idenly,  as  they  would  put  it  here,  a  light  went 
her  over. 

"Ach,  yes-s-s-s!  Sie  wollten  vielleicht  abge- 
ruhrter  Gugelhopf  haben,  und  auch  Schaum- 
torte,  und  Bismarcks,  und  Hornchen  mit  cream 
gefullt,  nicht?" 


DAWN  O'HARA 

"  Certainly,"  I  murmured,  quite  crushed. 
Roschen  waddled  merrily  off  to  the  shop. 

Blackie  was  rolling  a  cigarette.  He  ran  his 
funny  little  red  tongue  along  the  edge  of  the 
paper  and  glanced  up  at  me  in  glee.  "  Don't 
bother  about  me,"  he .  generously  observed. 
"  Just  set  still  and  let  the  atmosphere  soak  in." 

But  already  I  was  lost  in  contemplation  of  a 
red-faced,  pompadoured  German  who  was 
drinking  coffee  and  reading  the  Fliegende 
Blatter  at  a  table  just  across  the  way.  There 
were  counterparts  of  my  aborigines  at  Knapf's 
—  thick  spectacled  engineers  with  high  fore 
heads  —  actors  and  actresses  from  the  German 
stock  company  —  reporters  from  the  English 
and  German  newspapers  —  business  men  with 
comfortable  German  consciences  —  long-haired 
musicians  — dapper  young  lawyers  —  a  giggling 
group  of  college  girls  and  boys  —  a  couple  of 
smartly  dressed  women  nibbling  appreciatively  at 
slices  of  Nusstorte  —  low-voiced  lovers  whose 
coffee  cups  stood  untouched  at  their  elbows, 
while  no  fragrant  cloud  of  steam  rose  to  indicatej 
that  there  was  warmth  within.  Their  glances 
grow  warmer  as  the  neglected  Kaffee  grows 
colder.  The  color  comes  and  goes  in  the  girl's 
face  and  I  watch  it,  a  bit  enviously,  marveling 
that  the  old  story  still  should  be  so  new. 


KAFFEE  AND  KAFFEEKUCHEN 

At  a  large  square  table  near  the  doorway  a 
group  of  eight  men  were  absorbed  in  an  ani 
mated  political  discussion,  accompanied  by  much 
waving  of  arms,  and  thundering  of  gutturals. 
It  appeared  to  be  a  table  of  importance,  for  the 
high-backed  bench  that  ran  along  one  side  was 
upholstered  in  worn  red  velvet,  and  every  new 
comer  paused  a  moment  to  nod  or  to  say  a  word 
in  greeting.  It  was  not  of  American  politics 
that  they  talked,  but  of  the  politics  of  Austria 
and  Hungary.  Finally  the  argument  resolved 
itself  into  a  duel  of  words  between  a  handsome, 
red-faced  German  whose  rosy  skin  seemed  to 
take  on  a  deeper  tone  in  contrast  to  the  white 
ness  of  his  hair  and  mustache,  and  a  swarthy 
young  fellow  whose  thick  spectacles  and  heavy 
mane  of  black  hair  gave  him  the  look  of  a  cari 
cature  out  of  an  illustrated  German  weekly. 
The  red-faced  man  argued  loudly,  with  much 
rapping  of  bare  knuckles  on  the  table  top.  But 
the  dark  man  spoke  seldom,  and  softly,  with  a 
little  twisted  half-smile  on  his  lips;  and  when 
ever  he  spoke  the  red-faced  man  grew  redder, 
and  there  came  a  huge  laugh  from  the  others 
who  sat  listening. 

"  Say,  wouldn't  it  curdle  your  English? " 
Blackie  laughed. 

Solemnly  I  turned  to  him.     "  Blackie  Griffith, 


DAWN  O'HARA 

tHese  people  do  not  even  realize  that  there  is 
anything  unusual  about  this." 

"Sure  not;  that's  the  beauty  of  it.  They 
don't  need  to  make  no  artificial  atmosphere  for 
this  place;  it  just  grows  wild,  like  dandelions. 
Everybody  comes  here  for  their  coffee  because 
their  aunts  an'  uncles  and  Grossmutters  and 
Grosspapas  used  t'  come,  and  come  yet,  if  they're 
livin'  I  An',  after  all,  what  is  it  but  a  little  Ger 
man  bakery?  " 

"  But  O,  wise  Herr  Baumbach  down  in  the 
kitchen!  O,  subtle  Frau  Baumbach  back  of 
the  desk!"  said  I.  "Others  may  fit  their 
shops  with  mirrors,  and  cut-glass  chandeliers 
and  Oriental  rugs  and  mahogany,  but  you  sit 
serenely  by,  and  you  smile,  and  you  change 
nothing.  You  let  the  brown  walls  grow  dim 
mer  with  age;  you  see  the  marble-topped  tables 
turning  yellow;  you  leave  bare  your  wooden 
floor,  and  you  smile,  and  smile,  and  smile." 

"Fine!"  applauded  Blackie.  "You're  on. 
And  here  comes  Rosie." 

Rosie,  the  radiant,  placed  on  the  table  cups 
and  saucers  of  an  unbelievable  thickness.  She  set 
them  down  on  the  marble  surface  with  a  crash 
as  oije  who  knows  well  that  no  mere  marble  or 
granite  could  shatter  the  solidity  of  those  stout 
earthenware  receptacles.  Napkins  there  were 
[116] 


KAFFEE  AND  KAFFEEKUCHEN 

none.  I  was  to  learn  that  fingers  were  rid  of 
any  clinging  remnants  of  cream  or  crumb  by  the 
simple  expedient  of  licking  them. 

Blackie  emptied  his  pitcher  of  cream  into  his 
cup  of  black,  black  coffee,  sugared  it,  stirred, 
tasted,  and  then,  with  a  wicked  gleam  in  his 
black  eyes  he  lifted  the  heavy  cup  to  his  lips  and 
took  a  long,  gurgling  mouthful. 

"  Blackie,"  I  hissed,  "  if  you  do  that  again  I 
shall  refuse  to  speak  to  you !  " 

"  Do  what?"  demanded  he,  all  injured  in 
nocence. 

"  Snuffle  up  your  coffee  like  that." 

"  Why,  girl,  that's  th'  proper  way  t'  drink 
coffee  here.  Listen  t'  everybody  else."  And 
while  I  glared  he  wrapped  his  hand  lovingly 
about  his  cup,  holding  the  spoon  imprisoned  be 
tween  first  and  second  fingers,  and  took  another 
sibilant  mouthful  "  Any  more  of  your  back 
talk  and  I'll  drink  it  out  of  m'  saucer  an'  blow 
on  it  like  the  hefty  party  over  there  in  the  ear 
rings  is  doin'.  Calm  yerself  an1  try  a  Bis-, 
marck." 

I  picked  up  one  of  the  flaky  confections  and 
eyed  it  in  despair.  There  were  no  plates  except 
that  on  which  the  cakes  reposed. 

"  How  does  one  eat  them?  "  I  inquired. 

fct  Yuh  don't  really  eat  'em.     The  motion  Is 


DAWN  O'HARA 

more  like  inhalin'.  T'  eat  'em  successful  you 
really  ought  t'  get  into  a  bath-tub  half-filled 
with  water,  because  as  soon's  you  bite  in  at  one 
end  w'y  the  custard  stuff  slides  out  at  the  other, 
an'  no  human  mouth  c'n  be  two  places  at  oncet. 
Shut  your  eyes  girl,  an'  just  wade  in." 

I  waded.  In  silence  I  took  a  deep  delicious 
bite,  nimbly  chased  the  coy  filling  around  a  cor 
ner  with  my  tongue,  devoured  every  bit  down 
to  the  last  crumb  and  licked  the  stickiness  off  my 
fingers.  Then  I  investigated  the  interior  of  the 
next  cake. 

"  I'm  coming  here  every  day,"  I  announced. 

"  Better  not.  Ruin  your  complexion  and 
turn  all  your  lines  into  bumps.  Look  at  the 
dame  with  the  earrings.  I've  been  keepin' 
count  an'  I've  seen  her  eat  three  Schnecken,  two 
cream  puffs,  a  Nusshornchen  and  a  slice  of 
Torte  with  two  cups  of  coffee.  Ain't  she  a  hor 
rible  example!  And  yet  she's  got  th'  nerve  t' 
wear  a  princess  gown !  " 

"  I  don't  care,"  I  replied,  recklessly,  my 
voice  choked  with  whipped  cream  and  butteri- 
ness.  "  I  can  just  feel  myself  getting  greasy. 
Haven't  I  done  beautifully  for  a  new  hand? 
Now  tell  me  about  some  of  these  people.  Who 
is  the  funny  little  man  in  the  checked  suit  with 
the  black  braid  trimming,  and  the  green  cravat, 


KAFFEE  AND  KAFFEEKUCHEN 

and  the  white  spats,  and  the  tan  hat  and  the  eye 
glasses?" 

"Ain't  them  th'  dizzy  habiliments?"  !A! 
note  of  envy  crept  into  Blackie's  voice.  "  His 
name  is  Hugo  Luders.  Used  t'  be  a  reporter 
on  the  Germania,  but  he's  reformed  and  gone' 
into  advertising  where  there's  real  money. 
Some  say  he  wears  them  clo'es  on  a  bet,  and 
some  say  his  taste  in  dress  is  a  curse  descended 
upon  him  from  Joseph,  the  guy  with  the  fancy 
coat,  but  I  think  he  wears  'em  because  he  fancies 
'em.  He's  been  coming  here  ever'  afternoon 
for  twelve  years,  has  a  cup  of  coffee,  game  of 
chess,  and  a  pow-wow  with  a  bunch  of  cronies. 
If  Baumbach's  ever  decide  to  paint  the  front  of 
their  shop  or  put  in  cut  glass  fixtures  and  hand- 
painted  china,  Hugo  Luders  would  serve  an  in 
junction  on  'em.  Next !  " 

"  Who's  the  woman  with  the  leathery  com 
plexion  and  the  belt  to  match,  and  the  untidy 
hair  and  the  big  feet?  I  like  her  face.  And 
why  does  she  sit  at  a  table  with  all  those 
strange-looking  men?  And  who  are  all  the 
men?  And  who  is  the  fur-lined  grand  opera 
tenor  just  coming  in  —  Oh !  " 

Blackie  glanced  over  his  shoulder  just  as  the 
tall  man  in  the  doorway  turned  his  face  toward 
us.  "That?  Why,  girl,  that's  Von  Gerhard, 


DAWN  O'HARA 

the  man  who  gives  me  one  more  year  t'  live 
Look  at  everybody  kowtowing  to  him.  He 
don't  favor  Baumbach's  often.  Too  busy 
patching  up  the  nervous  wrecks  that  are  washed 
up  on  his  shores." 

The  tall  figure  in  the  doorway  was  glancing 
from  table  to  table,  nodding  here  and  there 
to  an  acquaintance.  His  eyes  traveled  the 
length  of  the  room.  Now  they  were  nearing 
us.  I  felt  a  sudden,  inexplicable  tightening  at 
heart  and  throat,  as  though  fingers  were  clutch 
ing  there.  Then  his  eyes  met  mine,  and  I  felt 
the  blood  rushing  to  my  face  as  he  came  swiftly 
over  to  our  table  and  took  my  hand  in  his. 

"  So  you  have  discovered  Baumbach's,"  he 
said.  u  May  I  have  my  coffee  and  cigar  here 
with  you  ?  " 

"  Blackie  here  is  responsible  for  my  being  in 
itiated  into  the  sticky  mysteries  of  Baumbach's. 
I  never  should  have  discovered  it  if  he  had  not 
offered  to  act  as  personal  conductor.  You 
know  one  another,  I  believe  ?  " 

The  two  men  shook  hands  across  the  table. 
There  was  something  forced  and  graceless 
about  the  act.  Blackie  eyed  Von  Gerhard 
through  a  misty  curtain  of  cigarette  smoke. 
Von  Gerhard  gazed  at  Blackie  through  nar« 
rowed  lids  as  he  lighted  his  cigar. 
[120] 


KAFFEE  AND  KAFFEEKUCHEN 

"  I'm  th'  gink  you  killed  off  two  or  three 
years  back/'  Blackie  explained. 

"  I  remember  you  perfectly,"  Von  Gerhard 
returned,  courteously.  "  I  rejoice  to  see  that  I 
was  mistaken." 

"  Well,"  drawled  Blackie,  a  wicked  gleam 
in  his  black  eyes,  "  I'm  some  rejoiced  m'self, 
old  top.  Angel  wings  and  a  white  kimono, 
worn  bare-footy,  would  go  some  rotten 
with  my  Spanish  style  of  beauty,  what? 
Didn't  know  that  you  and  m'dame  friend 
here  was  acquainted.  Known  each  other 
long?" 

I  felt  myself  flushing  again. 

II  I  knew  Dr.  von  Gerhard  back  home.     I've 
scarcely  seen  him  since  I  have  been  here.      Fa 
mous  specialists  can't  be  bothered  with  middle- 
aged  relatives  of  their  college  friends,  can  they, 
Herr  Doktor?" 

And  now  it  was  Von  Gerhard's  face  that 
flushed  a  deep  and  painful  crimson.  He 
looked  at  me,  in  silence,  and  I  felt  very  little, 
and  insignificant,  and  much  like  an  impudent 
child  who  has  stuck  out  its  tongue  at  its  elders. 
Silent  men  always  affect  talkative  women  in  that 
way. 

1  You  know  that  what  you  say  is  not  true," 
he  said,  slowly. 

[121] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

"  Well,  we  won't  quibble.  We  —  we  were 
just  about  to  leave,  weren't  we  Blackie?  " 

"  Just,"  said  Blackie,  rising.  "  Sorry  t'  see 
you  drinkin'  Baumbach's  coffee,  Doc.  It  ain't 
•fair  t'  your  patients." 

"Quite  right,"  replied  Von  Gerhard;  and 
rose  with  us.  "I  shall  not  drink  it.  I  shall 
walk  home  with  Mrs.  Orme  instead,  if  she 
will  allow  me.  That  will  be  more  stimulating 
than  coffee,  and  twice  as  dangerous,  perhaps, 
but—" 

"  You  know  how  I  hate  that  sort  of  thing," 
I  said,  coldly,  as  we  passed  from  the  warmth  of 
the  little  front  shop  where  the  plump  girls  were 
still  filling  pasteboard  boxes  with  holiday  cakes, 
to  the  brisk  chill  of  the  winter  street.  The  lit 
tle  black-and-gilt  sign  swung  and  creaked  in 
the  wind.  Whimsically,  and  with  the  memory 
of  that  last  cream-filled  cake  fresh  in  my  mind, 
I  saluted  the  letters  that  spelled  "  Franz  Baum- 
bach." 

Blackie  chuckled  impishly.  "  Just  the  same, 
try  a  pinch  of  soda  bicarbonate  when  you  get 
home,  Dawn,"  he  advised.  "  Well,  I'm  off  to 
the  factory  again.  Got  t'  make  up  for  time 
wasted  on  m'  lady  friend.  Auf  wiedersehen!  " 

And  the  little  figure  in  the  checked  top-coat 
trotted  off. 

[122] 


KAFFEE  AND  KAFFEEKUCHEN 

"  But  he  called  you  —  Dawn,"  broke  from 
Von  Gerhard. 

"  Mhum,"  I  agreed.     "  My  name's  Dawn." 

"  Surely  not  to  him.  You  have  known  him 
but  a  few  weeks.  I  would  not  have  pre* 
sumed — " 

"  Blackie  never  presumes,"  I  laughed. 
"  Blackie's  just  —  Blackie.  Imagine  taking  of 
fense  at  him !  He  knows  every  one  by  their 
given  name,  from  Jo,  the  boss  of  the  pressroom, 
to  the  Chief,  who  imports  his  office  coats  from 
London.  Besides,  Blackie  and  I  are  newspaper 
men.  And  people  don't  scrape  and  bow  in  a 
newspaper  office  —  especially  when  they're  fond 
of  one  another.  You  wouldn't  understand." 

As  I  looked  at  Von  Gerhard  in  the  light  of 
the  street  lamp  I  saw  a  tense,  drawn  look  about 
the  little  group  of  muscles  which  show  when 
the  teeth  are  set  hard.  When  he  spoke  those 
muscles  had  relaxed  but  little. 

"  One  man  does  not  talk  ill  of  another.  But 
this  is  different.  I  want  to  ask  you  - —  do  you 
know  what  manner  of  man  this  —  this  Blackie 
is?  I  ask  you  because  I  would  have  you  safe 

and  sheltered  always  from  such  as  he  —  because 
j " 

"Safe!  From  Blackie?  Now  listen.  There 
never  was  a  safer,  saner,  truer,  more  gen- 


DAWN  O'HARA 

erous  friend.  Oh,  I  know  what  his  life  has 
been.  But  what  else  could  it  have  been,  begin 
ning  as  he  did?  I  have  no  wish  to  reform 
him.  I  tried  my  hand  at  reforming  one  man, 
and  made  a  glorious  mess  of  it.  So  I'll  just 
take  Blackie  as  he  is,  if  you  please  —  slang, 
wickedness,  pink  shirt,  red  necktie,  diamond 
rings  and  all.  If  there's  any  bad  in  him,  we 
all  know  it,  for  it's  right  down  on  the  table, 
face  up.  You're  just  angry  because  he  called 
you  Doc." 

"  Small  one,"  said  Von  Gerhard,  in  his  quaint 
German  idiom,  "  we  will  not  quarrel,  you  and 
I.  If  I  have  been  neglectful  it  was  because 
edged  tools  were  never  a  chosen  plaything  of 
mine.  Perhaps  your  little  Blackie  realizes  that 
he  need  have  no  fear  of  such  things,  for  the 
Great  Fear  is  upon  him." 

"The  Great  Fear!     You  mean! — " 

"  I  mean  that  there  are  too  many  fine  little 
lines  radiating  from  the  corners  of  the  sunken 
eyes,  and  that  his  hand-clasp  leaves  a  moisture 
in  the  palm.  Ach !  you  may  laugh.  Come,  we 
will  change  the  subject  to  something  more  cheer 
ful,  yes?  Tell  me,  how  grows  the  book?  " 

"  By  inches.  After  working  all  day  on  a 
bulletin  paper  whose  city  editor  is  constantly 
shouting :  *  Boil  it  now,  fellows !  Keep  it  down ! 


KAFFEE  AND  KAFFEEKUCHEN 

We're  crowded  I  '  it  is  too  much  of  a  wrench 
to  find  myself  seated  calmly  before  my  owrt 
typewriter  at  night,  privileged  to  write  one  hun-* 
dred  thousand  words  if  I  choose.  I  can't  get 
over  the  habit  of  crowding  the  story  all  into  the 
first  paragraph.  Whenever  I  flower  into  a  de 
scriptive  passage  I  glance  nervously  over  my 
shoulder,  expecting  to  find  Norberg  stationed 
behind  me,  scissors  and  blue  pencil  in  hand. 
Consequently  the  book,  thus  far,  sounds  very 
much  like  a  police  reporter's  story  of  a  fire  four 
minutes  before  the  paper  is  due  to  go  to  press." 

Von  Gerhard's  face  was  unsmiling.  "  So," 
he  said,  slowly.  "  You  burn  the  candle  at  both 
ends.  All  day  you  write,  is  it  not  so?  And 
at  night  you  come  home  to  write  still  more? 
Ach,  Kindchen !  —  Na,  we  shall  change  all  that. 
We  will  be  better  comrades,  we  two,  yes?  )You 
remember  that  gay  little  walk  of  last  autumn, 
when  we  explored  the  Michigan  country  lane 
at  dusk?  I  shall  be  your  Sunday  Schatz,  and 
there  shall  be  more  rambles  like  that  one,  to 
bring  the  roses  into  your  cheeks.  We  shall 
be  good  Kameraden,  as  you  and  this  little  Grif 
fith  are  —  what  is  it  they  say  —  good  fellows? 
That  is  it  —  good  fellows,  yes  ?  So,  shall  we 
shake  hands  on  it?  " 

But  I  snatched  my  hand  away.     "  I  don't 


DAWN  O'HARA 

want  to  be  a  good  fellow,"  I  cried.  "  I'm  tired 
of  being  a  good  fellow.  I've  been  a  good  fel 
low  for  years  and  years,  while  every  other  mar 
ried  woman  in  the  world  has  been  happy  in  her 
own  home,  bringing  up  her  babies.  When  I 
am  old  I  want  some  sons  to  worry  me,  too,  and 
to  stay  awake  nights  for,  and  some  daughters 
to  keep  me  young,  and  to  prevent  me  from 
doing  my  hair  in  a  knob  and  wearing  bonnets! 
I  hate  good-fellow  women,  and  so  do  you,  and 
so  does  every  one  else !  I  —  I  — " 

"Dawn!"  cried  Von  Gerhard.  But  I  ran 
up  the  steps  and  into  the  house  and  slammed  the 
door  behind  me,  leaving  him  standing  there. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE    LADY    FROM   VIENNA 

more  aborigines  have  appeared.  One 
of  them  is  a  lady  aborigine.  They  made 
their  entrance  at  supper  and  I  forgot  to  eat, 
watching  them.  The  new-comers  are  from 
Vienna.  He  is  an  expert  engineer  and  she  is 
a  woman  of  noble  birth,  with  a  history.  Their 
combined  appearance  is  calculated  to  strike  ter 
ror  to  the  heart.  He  is  daringly  uglv,  with  a 
chin  that  curves  in  under  his  lip  and  then  out 
in  a  peak,  like  pictures  of  Punch.  She  wore  a 
gray  gown  of  a  style  I  never  had  seen  before 
and  never  expect  to  see  again.  It  was  fastened 
with  huge  black  buttons  all  the  way  down  the 
breathlessly  tight  front,  and  the  upper  part  was 
composed  of  that  pre-historic  garment  known  as 
a  basque.  She  curved  in  where  she  should  have 
curved  out,  and  she  bulged  where  she  should 
have  had  "  lines."  About  her  neck  was  sus 
pended  a  string  of  cannon-ball  beads  that 
clanked  as  she  walked.  On  her  forehead  rested 
a  sparse  fringe. 

[127] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

"Mem  Himmel!"  thought  I.  "  Am  I 
dreaming?  This  isn't  Wisconsin.  This  is 
Niirnberg,  or  Strassburg,  with  a  dash  of  Heidel 
berg  and  Berlin  thrown  in.  Dawn,  old  girl, 
it's  going  to  be  more  instructive  than  a  Cook's 
tour." 

That  turned  out  to  be  the  truest  prophecy  I 
ever  made. 

The  first  surprising  thing  that  the  new-com 
ers  did  was  to  seat  themselves  at  the  long  table 
with  the  other  aborigines,  the  lady  aborigine 
being  the  only  woman  among  the  twelve  men. 
It  was  plain  that  they  had  known  one  another 
previous  to  this  meeting,  for  they  became  very 
good  friends  at  once,  and  the  men  grew  heavily 
humorous  about  there  being  thirteen  at  table. 

At  that  the  lady  aborigine  began  to  laugh. 
Straightway  I  forgot  the  outlandish  gown,  for 
got  the  cannon-ball  beads,  forgot  the  sparse 
fringe,  forgave  the  absence  of  "  lines. "  Suck 
a  voice !  A  lilting,  melodious  thing.  She 
broke  into  a  torrent  of  speech,  with  bewildering 
gestures,  and  I  saw  that  her  hands  were  ex 
quisitely  formed  and  as  expressive  as  her  voice. 
Her  German  was  the  musical  tongue  of  the 
Viennese,  possessing  none  of  the  gutturals  and 
sputterings.  When  she  crowned  it  with  the 
gay  little  trilling  laugh  my  views  on  the  Ian- 

[128] 


THE  LADY  FROM  VIENNA 

guage  underwent  a  lightning  change.  It 
seemed  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world  to 
see  her  open  the  flat,  silver  case  that  dangled 
at  the  end  of  the  cannon-ball  chain,  take  out  a 
cigarette,  light  it,  and  smoke  it  there  in  that 
little  German  dining  room.  She  wore  the  most 
gracefully  nonchalant  air  imaginable  as  she 
blew  little  rings  and  wreaths,  and  laughed  and 
chatted  brightly  with  her  husband  and  the  other 
men.  Occasionally  she  broke  into  French,  her 
accent  as  charmingly  perfect  as  it  had  been  in 
her  native  tongue.  There  was  a  moment  of 
breathless  staring  on  the  part  of  the  respec 
table  middle-class  Frauen  at  the  other  tables. 
Then  they  shrugged  their  shoulders  and 
plunged  into  their  meal  again.  There  was  a 
certain  little  high-born  air  of  assurance  about 
that  cigarette-smoking  that  no  amount  of  star 
ing  could  ruffle. 

Watching  the  new  aborigines  grew  to  be  a 
sort  of  game.  The  lady  aborigine  of  the 
golden  voice,  and  the  ugly  husband  of  the 
peaked  chin  had  a  strange  fascination  for  me. 
I  scrambled  downstairs  at  meal  time  in  order 
not  to  miss  them,  and  I  dawdled  over  the  meal 
so  that  I  need  not  leave  before  they.  I  dis 
covered  that  when  the  lady  aborigine  was  ani 
mated,  her  face  was  that  of  a  young  woman, 
[129] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

possessing  a  certain  high-bred  charm,  but  that 
when  in  repose  the  face  of  the  lady  aborigine 
was  that  of  a  very  old  and  tired  woman  indeed. 
Also  that  her  husband  bullied  her,  and  that 
when  he  did  that  she  looked  at  him  worship- 
ingly. 

Then  one  evening,  a  week  or  so  after 
the  appearance  of  the  new  aborigines,  there 
came  a  clumping  at  my  door.  I  was  seated  at 
my  typewriter  and  the  book  was  balkier  than 
usual,  and  I  wished  that  the  clumper  at  the 
door  would  go  away. 

"  Come !  "  I  called,  ungraciously  enough. 
Then,  on  second  thought:  "Herein/" 

The  knob  turned  slowly,  and  the  door  opened 
just  enough  to  admit  the  top  of  a  head  crowned 
with  a  tight,  moist  German  knob  of  hair.  I 
searched  my  memory  to  recognize  the  knob, 
failed  utterly  and  said  again,  this  time  with 
mingled  curiosity  and  hospitality: 

"Won't  you  come  in?" 

The  apparently  bodiless  head  thrust  itself  for 
ward  a  bit,  disclosing  an  apologetically  smiling 
face,  with  high  cheek  bones  that  glistened  with 
friendliness  and  scrubbing. 

"  Nabben',  Fraulein,"  said  the  head. 

"  Nabben',"  I  replied,  more  mystified  than 
ever.  "  Howdy  do !  Is  there  anything  — " 


THE  LADY  FROM  VIENNA 

The  head  thrust  itself  forward  still  more, 
showing  a  pair  of  plump  shoulders  as  its  sup 
port.  Then  the  plump  shoulders  heaved  into 
|the  room,  disclosing  a  stout,  starched  gingham 
body. 

"  Ich  bin  Frau  Knapf,"  announced  the  beam 
ing  vision. 

Now  up  to  this  time  Frau  Knapf  had  main 
tained  a  Mrs.  Harris-like  mysteriousness.  I 
had  heard  rumors  of  her,  and  I  had  partaken 
of  certain  crispy  dishes  of  German  extraction, 
reported  to  have  come  from  her  deft  hands,  but 
I  had  not  even  caught  a  glimpse  of  her  skirts 
whisking  around  a  corner. 

Therefore:  "Frau  Knapf!"  I  repeated. 
"  Nonsense !  There  ain't  no  sich  person  — 
that  is,  I'm  glad  to  see  you.  Won't  you  come 
in  and  sit  down?  " 

"  Ach,    no !  "    smiled    the    substantial    Frau 

Knapf,  clinging  tightly  to  the  door  knob.      "  I 

got  no  time.     It  gives  much  to  do  to-night  yet, 

jKuchen  dough  I  must  set,  und  ich  weiss  nicht 

iwas.     I  got  no  time." 

Bustling,  red-cheeked  Frau  Knapf!  This 
iwas  why  I  had  never  had  a  glimpse  of  her. 
Always,  she  got  no  time.  For  while  Herr 
iKnapf,  dapper  and  genial,  welcomed  new- 
jcomers,  chatted  with  the  diners,  poured  a  glass 


DAWN  O'HARA 

of  foaming  Doppel-brau  for  Herr  Weber  or 
dexterously  carved  fowl  for  the  aborigines' 
table,  Frau  Knapf  was  making  the  wheels  go 
round.  I  discovered  that  it  was  she  who  bakes 
the  melting,  golden  German  Pfannkuchen  on 
Sunday  mornings;  she  it  is  who  fries  the  crisp 
and  hissing  Wienerschnitzel;  she  it  is  who  pre 
pares  the  plump  ducklings,  and  the  thick 
gravies,  and  the  steaming  lentil  soup  and  the 
rosy  sausages  nestling  coyly  in  their  bed  of 
sauerkraut.  All  the  week  Frau  Knapf  bakes 
and  broils  and  stews,  her  rosy  cheeks  taking 
on  a  twinkling  crimson  from  the  fire  over  which 
she  bends.  But  on  Sunday  night  Frau  Knapf 
sheds  her  huge  apron  and  rolls  down  the 
sleeves  from  her  plump  arms.  On  Sunday 
evening  she  leaves  pots  and  pans  and  cooking, 
and  is  a  transformed  Frau  Knapf.  Then  does 
she  don  a  bright  blue  silk  waist  and  a  velvet 
coat  that  is  dripping  with  jet,  and  a  black  bon 
net  on  which  are  perched  palpitating  birds  and 
weary-looking  plumes.  Then  she  and  Herr 
Knapf  walk  comfortably  down  to  the  PabsrJ 
theater  to  sec  the  German  play  by  the  Germam 
stock  company.  They  applaud  their  favorite 
stout,  blond,  German  comedienne  as  she 
romps  through  the  acts  of  a  sprightly  German 
comedy,  and  after  the  play  they  go  to  their 


THE  LADY  FROM  VIENNA 

favorite  Wein-stube  around  the  corner.  There 
they  have  sardellen  and  cheese  sandwiches  and 
a  great  deal  of  beer,  and  for  one  charmed  even- 
jng  Frau  Knapf  forgets  all  about  the  insides  of 
^geese  and  the  thickening  for  gravies,  and  is 
happy. 

Many  of  these  things  Frau  Knapf  herself 
told  me,  standing  there  by  the  door  with  the 
Kuchen  heavy  on  her  mind.  Some  of  them  I 
got  from  Ernst  von  Gerhard  when  I  told  him 
about  my  visitor  and  her  errand.  The  errand 
was  not  disclosed  until  Frau  Knapf  had  caught 
me  casting  a  despairing  glance  at  my  last  type 
written  page. 

"  Ach,  see !  you  got  no  time  for  talking  to, 
ain't  it?  "  she  apologized. 

"  Heaps  of  time,"  I  politely  assured  her, 
"  don't  hurry.  But  why  not  have  a  chair  and 
be  comfortable?  " 

Frau  Knapf  was  not  to  be  deceived.  "  I 
go  in  a  minute.  But  first  it  is  something  I 
like  to  ask  you.  You  know  maybe  Frau  Nir- 
langer?" 

I  shook  my  head. 

"  But  sure  you  must  know.  From  Vienna 
she  is,  with  such  a  voice  like  a  bird." 

"  And  the  beads,  and  the  gray  gown,  and  the 
fringe,  and  the  cigarettes?" 

[133] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

"  And  the  oogly  husband,"  finished  Frau 
Knapf,  nodding. 

"  Oogly,"  I  agreed,  "  isn't  the  name  for  it. 
And  so  she  is  Frau  Nirlanger  ?  I  thought  there 
would  be  a  Von  at  the  very  least." 

Whereupon  my  visitor  deserted  the  door 
knob,  took  half  a  dozen  stealthy  steps  in  my 
direction  and  lowered  her  voice  to  a  hissing 
whisper  of  confidence. 

"  It  is  more  as  a  Von.  I  will  tell  you.  To 
day  comes  Frau  Nirlanger  by  me  and  she  says: 
*  Frau  Knapf,  I  wish  to  buy  clothes,  aber  echt 
Amerikanische.  Myself,  I  do  not  know  what 
is  modish,  and  I  cannot  go  alone  to  buy/  *' 

"  That's  a  grand  idea,"  said  I,  recalling  the 
gray  basque  and  the  cannon-ball  beads. 

"  Ja,  sure  it  is,"  agreed  Frau  Knapf.  "  So- 
o-o-o,  she  asks  me  was  it  some  lady  who  would 
come  with  her  by  the  stores  to  help  a  hat  and 
suit  and  dresses  to  buy.  Stylish  she  likes  they 
should  be,  and  echt  Amerikanisch.  So-o-o-o,  I 
say  to  her,  I  would  go  myself  with  you,  only 
so  awful  stylish  I  ain't,  and  anyway  I  got  no 
time.  But  a  lady  I  know  who  is  got  such 
stylish  clothes !  "  Frau  Knapf  raised  admir 
ing  hands  and  eyes  toward  heaven.  "  Such  a 
nice  lady  she  is,  and  stylish,  like  anything! 
And  her  name  is  Frau  Orme." 


THE  LADY  FROM  VIENNA 

"  Oh,  really,  Frau  Knapf — "  I  murmured  in 
blushing  confusion. 

"  Sure,  it  is  so,"  insisted  Frau  Knapf,  com 
ing  a  step  nearer,  and  sinking  her  voice  one  hiss 
lower.  "  You  shouldn't  say  I  said  it,  but  Frau 
Nirlanger  likes  she  should  look  young  for  her 
husband.  He  is  much  younger  as  she  is  — 
aber  much.  Anyhow  ten  years.  Frau  Nir 
langer  does  not  tell  me  this,  but  from  other 
people  I  have  found  out."  Frau  Knapf  shook 
her  head  mysteriously  a  great  many  times. 
"  But  maybe  you  ain't  got  such  an  interest  in 
Frau  Nirlanger,  yes?  " 

"Interest!  I'm  eaten  up  with  curiosity. 
You  shan't  leave  this  room  alive  until  you've 
told  me!" 

Frau     Knapf     shook     with     silent     mirth. 

Now  you  make  jokings,  ain't?  Well,  I  tell 
you.  In  Vienna,  Frau  Nirlanger  was  a  widow, 
from  a  family  aber  hoch  edel  —  very  high  born. 
From  the  court  her  family  is,  and  friends  from 
the  Emperor,  und  alles.  Sure!  Frau  Nir 
langer,  she  is  different  from  the  rest.  Books 
she  likes,  und  meetings,  und  all  such  komisch 
things.  And  what  you  think!  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  I  gasped,  hanging  on  her 
words,  "  what  do  I  think?  " 

"  She  meets  this  here  Konrad  Nirlanger,  and 

[135] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

falls  with  him  in  love.  Und  her  family  is  madl 
But  schrecklich  madl  Forty  years  old  she  is, 
and  from  a  noble  family,  and  Konrad  Nir- 
langer  is  only  a  student  from  a  university,  and 
he  comes  from  the  Volk.  Sehr  gebildet  he  is, 
but  not  high  born.  So-o-o-o-o,  she  runs  with 
him  away  and  is  married." 

Shamelessly  I  drank  it  all  in.  "  You  don't 
mean  it!  Well,  then  what  happened?  She 
ran  away  with  him  —  with  that  chin !  and  then 
what?" 

Frau  Knapf  was  enjoying  it  as  much  as  I. 
She  drew  a  long  breath,  felt  of  the  knob  of 
hair,  and  plunged  once  more  into  the  story. 

"Like  a  story-book  it  is,  nicht?  Well, 
Frau  Nirlanger,  she  has  already  a  boy  who  is 
ten  years  old,  and  a  fine  sum  of  money  that  her 
first  husband  left  her.  Aber  when  she  runs 
with  this  poor  kerl  away  from  her  family, 
and  her  first  husband's  family  is  so  schrecklich 
mad  that  they  try  by  law  to  take  from  her  her 
boy  and  her  money,  because  she  has  her  high 
born  family  disgraced,  you  see?  For  a  year 
they  fight  in  the  courts,  and  then  it  stands  that 
her  money  Frau  Nirlanger  can  keep,  but  her 
boy  she  cannot  have.  He  will  be  taken  by  her 
highborn  family  and  educated,  and  he  must  for 
get  all  about  his  mamma.  To  cry  it  is,  ain't 


THE  LADY  FROM  VIENNA 

it  ?  Das  arme  Kind !  Well,  she  can  stand  it  no 
longer  to  live  where  her  boy  is,  and  not  to  see 
him.  So-o-o-o,  Konrad  Nirlanger  he  gets  a 
chance  to  come  by  Amerika  where  there  is  a  big 
engineering  plant  here  in  Milwaukee,  and  she 
begs  her  husband  he  should  come,  because  this 
boy  she  loves  very  much  —  Oh,  she  loves  her 
young  husband  too,  but  difterent,  yes?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  I  agreed,  remembering  the  gay 
little  trilling  laugh,  and  the  face  that  was  so 
young  when  animated,  and  so  old  and  worn  in 
repose.  "  Oh,  yes.  Quite,  quite  different." 

Frau  Knapf  smoothed  her  spotless  skirt  and 
shook  her  head  slowly  and  sadly.  "  So-o-o-o, 
by  Amerika  they  come.  And  Konrad  Nir 
langer  he  is  maybe  a  little  cross  and  so,  because 
for  a  year  they  have  been  in  the  courts,  and  it 
might  have  been  the  money  they  would  lose, 
and  for  money  Konrad  Nirlanger  cares  —  well, 
you  shall  see.  But  Frau  Nirlanger  must  not 
mourn  and  cry.  She  must  laugh  and  sing,  and 
be  gay  for  her  husband.  But  Frau  Nirlanger 
has  no  grand  clothes,  for  first  she  runs  away 
with  Konrad  Nirlanger,  and  then  her  money  is 
tied  in  the  law.  Now  she  has  again  her 
money,  and  she  must  be  young  —  but  young !  " 

With  a  gesture  that  expressed  a  world  of 
pathos  and  futility  Frau  Knapf  flung  out  her 

[1373 


DAWN  O'HARA 

arms.  "  He  must  not  see  that  she  looks  dif 
ferent  as  the  ladies  in  this  country.  So  Frau 
Nirlanger  wants  she  should  buy  here  in  the 
stores  new  dresses  —  echt  Amerikanische. 
All  new  and  beautiful  things  she  would  have, 
because  she  must  look  young,  ain't  it?  And 
perhaps  her  boy  will  remember  her  when  he  is 
a  fine  young  man,  if  she  is  yet  young  when  he 
grows  up,  you  see?  And  too,  there  is  the  young 
husband.  First,  she  gives  up  her  old  life,  and 
her  friends  and  her  family  for  this  man,  and 
then  she  must  do  all  things  to  keep  him.  Men, 
they  are  but  children,  after  all,"  spake  the  wise 
Frau  Knapf  in  conclusion.  "  They  war  and 
cry  and  plead  for  that  which  they  would  have, 
and  when  they  have  won,  then  see!  They  are 
amused  for  a  moment,  and  the  new  toy  is  thrown 
aside." 

"  Poor,  plain,  vivacious,  fascinating  little 
Frau  Nirlanger!  "  I  said.  "  I  wonder  just  how 
snuch  of  pain  and  heartache  that  little  musical 
laugh  of  hers  conceals?  " 

"  Ja,  that  is  so,"  mused  Frau  Knapf. 
"  Her  eyes  look  like  eyes  that  have  wept 
much,  not?  And  so  you  will  be  so  kind  and 
go  maybe  to  select  the  so  beautiful  clothes?  " 

"Clothes?"  I  repeated,  remembering  the 
original  errand.  "  But  dear  lady !  How 


THE  LADY  FROM  VIENNA 

does  one  select  clothes  for  a  woman  of  forty 
who  would  not  weary  her  husband?  That  is 
a  task  for  a  French  modiste,  a  wizard,  and  a 
fairy  godmother  all  rolled  into  one." 

"  But  you  will  do  it,  yes?"  urged  Frau 
Knapf. 

"  I'll  do  It,"  I  agreed,  a  bit  ruefully,  "  if  only 
to  see  the  face  of  the  oogly  husband  when  his 
bride  is  properly  corseted  and  shod." 

Whereupon  Frau  Knapf,  in  a  panic,  remem 
bered  the  unset  Kuchen  dough  and  rushed  away, 
with  her  hand  on  her  lips  and  her  eyes  big  with 
secrecy.  And  I  sat  staring  at  the  last  typewrit 
ten  page  stuck  in  my  typewriter  and  I  found 
that  the  little  letters  on  the  white  page  were 
swimming  in  a  dim  purple  haze. 


[I39l 


CHAPTER  X 

A   TRAGEDY   OF    GOWNS 

"C^ROM  husbands  in  general,  and  from  oogly 
•^  German  husbands  in  particular  may  Hy 
men  defend  me  1  Never  again  will  I  attempt 
to  select  "  echt  Amerikanische  "  clothes  for  a 
woman  who  must  not  weary  her  young  hus 
band.  But  how  was  I  to  know  that  the  harm 
less  little  shopping  expedition  would  resolve  it 
self  into  a  domestic  tragedy,  with  Herr  Nir- 
langer  as  the  villain,  Frau  Nirlanger  as  the 
persecuted  heroine,  and  I  as  —  what  is  it  in 
tragedy  that  corresponds  to  the  innocent  by 
stander  in  real  life?  That  would  be  my  role. 
The  purchasing  of  the  clothes  was  a  real  joy. 
Next  to  buying  pretty  things  for  myself  there 
is  nothing  I  like  better  than  choosing  them  for 
some  one  else.  And  when  that  some  one  else 
happens  to  be  a  fascinating  little  foreigner  who 
coos  over  the  silken  stuffs  in  a  delightful  mix 
ture  of  German  and  English;  and  especially 
when  that  some  one  else  must  be  made  to  look 
so  charming  that  she  will  astonish  her  oogly 
[140] 


A  TRAGEDY  OF  GOWNS 

husband,  then  does  the  selecting  of  those  pretty 
things  cease  to  be  a  task,  and  become  an  art. 

It  was  to  be  a  complete  surprise  to  Herr  Nir- 
langer.  He  was  to  know  nothing  of  it  until 
everything  was  finished  and  Frau  Nirlanger, 
dressed  in  the  prettiest  of  the  pretty  Amer- 
ikanisch  gowns,  was  ready  to  astound  him  when 
he  should  come  home  from  the  office  of  the 
vast  plant  where  he  solved  engineering  prob 
lems. 

"  From  my  own  money  I  buy  all  this/'  Frau 
Nirlanger  confided  to  me,  with  a  gay  little 
laugh  of  excitement,  as  we  started  out.  "  From 
Vienna  it  comes.  Always  I  have  given  it  at 
once  to  my  husband,  as  a  wife  should.  Yes 
terday  it  came,  but  I  said  nothing,  and  when  my 
husband  said  to  me,  *  Anna,  did  not  the  money 
come  as  usual  to-day?  It  is  time/  I  told  a 
little  lie  —  but  a  little  one,  is  it  not?  Very 
amusing  it  was.  Almost  I  did  laugh.  Na,  he 
will  not  be  cross  when  he  see  how  his  wife  like 
the  Amerikanische  ladies  will  look.  He  admires 
very  much  the  ladies  of  Amerika.  Many  times 
he  has  said  so. 

("I'll  wager  he  has  —  the  great,  ugly 
boor!"  I  thought,  in  parenthesis.)  "We'll 
show  him !  "  I  said,  aloud.  "  He  won't  know 
you.  Such  a  lot  of  beautiful  clothes  as  we  can 


DAWN  O'HARA 

buy  with  all  this  money.  Oh,  dear  Frau  Nir« 
langer,  it's  going  to  be  slathers  of  fun  1  I  feel 
as  excited  about  it  as  though  it  were  a  trous 
seau  we  were  buying." 

"  So  it  is,"  she  replied,  a  little  shadow  of  sad 
ness  falling  across  the  brightness  of  her  face. 
<l  I  had  no  proper  clothes  when  we  were  mar 
ried  —  but  nothing !  You  know  perhaps  my 
story.  In  America,  everyone  knows  every 
thing.  It  is  wonderful.  When  I  ran  away  to 
marry  Konrad  Nirlanger  I  had  only  the  dress 
which  I  wore;  even  that  I  borrowed  from  one 
of  the  upper  servants,  on  a  pretext,  so  that  no 
one  should  recognize  me.  Ach  Gott!  I  need 
not  have  worried.  So !  You  see,  it  will  be 
after  all  a  trousseau." 

Why,  oh,  why  should  a  woman  with  her 
graceful  carriage  and  pretty  vivacity  have  been 
cursed  with  such  an  ill-assorted  lot  of  features! 
Especially  when  certain  boorish  young  hus 
bands  have  expressed  an  admiration  for  pink- 
and-white  effects  in  femininity. 

"  Never  mind,  Mr.  Husband,  I'll  show 
yez  I  "  I  resolved  as  the  elevator  left  us  at 
the  floor  where  waxen  ladies  in  shining  glass 
cases  smiled  amiably  all  the  day. 

There  must  be  no  violent  pinks  or  blues. 
Brown  was  too  old.  She  was  not  young  enough 


A  TRAGEDY  OF  GOWNS 

for  black.  Violet  was  too  trying.  And  so  the 
gowns  began  to  strew  tables  and  chairs  and 
racks,  and  still  I  shook  my  head,  and  Frau  Nir- 
langer  looked  despairing,  and  the  be-puffed  and 
real  Irish-crocheted  saleswoman  began  to  de 
velop  a  baleful  gleam  about  the  eyes. 

And  then  we  found  it!  It  was  a  case  of 
love  at  first  sight.  The  unimaginative  would 
have  called  it  gray.  The  thoughtless  would 
have  pronounced  it  pink.  It  was  neither,  and 
both;  a  soft,  rosily-gray  mixture  of  the  two, 
like  the  sky  that  one  sometimes  sees  at  winter 
twilight,  the  pink  of  the  sunset  veiled  by  the  gray 
of  the  snow  clouds.  It  was  of  a  supple,  shin 
ing  cloth,  simple  in  cut,  graceful  in  lines. 

"There!  We've  found  it.  Let's  pray  that 
it  will  not  require  too  much  altering." 

But  when  it  had  been  slipped  over  her  head 
we  groaned  at  the  inadequacy  of  her  old- 
fashioned  stays.  There  followed  a  flying  visit 
to  the  department  where  hips  were  whisked  out 
of  sight  in  a  jiffy,  and  where  lines  miraculously 
took  the  place  of  curves.  Then  came  the  gown 
once  more,  over  the  new  stays  this  time.  The 
effect  was  magical.  The  Irish-crocheted  sales 
woman  and  I  clasped  hands  and  fell  back  in 
attitudes  of  admiration.  Frau  Nirlanger 
turned  this  way  and  that  before  the  long 

[143] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

mirror  and  chattered  like  a  pleased  child 
Her  adjectives  grew  into  words  of  six  syllables. 
She  cooed  over  the  soft-shining  stuff  in  little 
broken  exclamations  in  French  and  German. 

Then  came  a  straight  and  simple  street  suit 
of  blue  cloth,  a  lingerie  gown  of  white,  hats, 
shoes  and  even  a  couple  of  limp  satin  petti 
coats.  The  day  was  gone  before  we  could 
finish. 

I  bullied  them  into  promising  the  pinky-gray 
gown  for  the  next  afternoon. 

"  Sooch  funs !  "  giggled  Frau  Nirlanger, 
"  and  how  it  makes  one  tired.  So  kind  you 
were,  to  take  this  trouble  for  me.  Me,  I  could 
never  have  warred  with  that  Fraulein  who 
served  us  —  so  haughty  she  was,  nicht  ?  But 
it  is  good  again  pretty  clothes  to  have*  Pretty 
gowns  I  lofe  —  you  also,  not?" 

"  Indeed  I  do  lofe  'em.  But  my  money 
comes  to  me  in  a  yellow  pay  envelope,  and  it  is 
spent  before  it  reaches  me,  as  a  rule.  It  doesn't 
leave  much  of  a  margin  for  general  reckless 


ness." 


A  tiny  sigh  came  from  Frau  Nirlanger.v 
"There  will  be  little  to  give  to  Konrad  this 
time.  So  much  money  they  cost,  those  clothes  I 
But  Konrad,  he  will  not  care  when  he  sees  the 
so  beautiful  dresses,  is  it  not  so?  " 


A  TRAGEDY  OF  GOWNS 

"  Care !  "  I  cried  with  a  great  deal  of  bravado, 
although  a  tiny  inner  voice  spake  in  doubt. 
"  Certainly  not.  How  could  he?" 

Next  day  the  boxes  came,  and  we  smuggled 
them  into  my  room.  The  unwrapping  of  the 
tissue  paper  folds  was  a  ceremony.  We  rev 
eled  in  the  very  crackle  of  it.  I  had  scuttled 
home  from  the  office  as  early  as  decency  would 
permit,  in  order  to  have  plenty  of  time  for  the 
dressing.  It  must  be  quite  finished  before 
Herr  Nirlanger  should  arrive.  Frau  Nirlanger 
had  purchased  three  tickets  for  the  German 
theater,  also  as  a  surprise,  and  I  was  to  accom 
pany  the  happily  surprised  husband  and  the 
proud  little  wife  of  the  new  Amerikanische 
clothes. 

I  coaxed  her  to  let  me  do  things  to  her  hair. 
Usually  she  wore  a  stiff  and  ugly  coiffure  that 
could  only  be  described  as  a  chignon.  I  do 
not  recollect  ever  having  seen  a  chignon,  but 
I  know  that  it  must  look  like  that.  I  was 
thankful  for  my  Irish  deftness  of  fingers  as  I 
stepped  back  to  view  the  result  of  my  laborsG 
The  new  arrangement  of  the  hair  gave  her 
features  a  new  softness  and  dignity. 

We  came  to  the  lacing  of  the  stays,  with 
their  exaggerated  length.  "  Aber !  "  exclaimed 
Frau  Nirlanger,  not  daring  to  laugh  because  of 

[145] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

the  strange  snugness.  "Ach!"  and  again, 
"  Aber  to  laugh  it  is !  " 

We  had  decided  the  prettiest  of  the  new 
gowns  must  do  honor  to  the  occasion.  ''  This 
shade  is  called  ashes  of  roses,'1  I  explained,  as  I 
slipped  it  over  her  head. 

"  Ashes  of  roses!"  she  echoed.  "How 
pretty,  yes?  But  a  little  sad  too,  is  it  not  so? 
Like  rosy  hopes  that  have  been  withered. 
Ach,  what  a  foolish  talk !  So,  now  you  will 
fasten  it  please.  A  real  trick  it  is  to  button 
such  a  dress  —  so  sly  they  are,  those  fasten 
ings." 

When  all  the  sly  fastenings  were  secure  I 
stood  at  gaze. 

"  Nose  is  shiny,"  I  announced,  searching  in 
a  drawer  for  chamois  and  powder. 

Frau  Nirlanger  raised  an  objecting  hand. 
"  But  Konrad  does  not  approve  of  such  things. 
He  has  said  so.  He  has  — " 

"  You  tell  your  Konrad  that  a  chamois  skin 
isn't  half  as  objectionable  as  a  shiny  one. 
Come  here  and  let  me  dust  this  over  your  nose 
and  chin,  while  I  breathe  a  prayer  of  thanks 
that  I  have  no  overzealous  husband  near  to 
forbid  me  the  use  of  a  bit  of  powder.  There ! 
If  I  sez  it  mesilf  as  shouldn't,  yez  ar-r-re  a 
credit  t'  me,  me  darlint." 


A  TRAGEDY  OF  GOWNS 

"  You  are  satisfied.  There  is  not  one  small 
thing  awry?  Ach,  how  we  shall  laugh  at 
Konrad's  face." 

"  Satisfied!  I'd  kiss  you  if  I  weren't  afraid 
that  I  should  muss  you  up.  You're  not  the 
same  woman.  You  look  like  a  girl!  And  so 
pretty!  Now  skedaddle  into  your  own  rooms, 
but  don't  you  dare  to  sit  down  for  a  moment. 
I'm  going  down  to  get  Frau  Knapf  before  your 
husband  arrives." 

"  But  is  there  then  time?"  inquired  Frau 
Nirlanger.  "He  should  be  here  now." 

"  I'll  bring  her  up  in  a  jiffy,  just  for  one  peep. 
She  won't  know  you !  Her  face  will  be  a  treat ! 
Don't  touch  your  hair  —  it's  quite  perfect. 
And  f 'r  Jawn's  sake !  Don't  twist  around  to 
look  at  yourself  in  the  back  or  something  will 
burst,  I  know  it  will.  I'll  be  back  in  a  minute. 
Now  run !  " 

The  slender,  graceful  figure  disappeared 
with  a  gay  little  laugh,  and  I  flew  downstairs 
for  Frau  Knapf.  She  was  discovered  with  a 
spoon  in  one  hand  and  a  spluttering  saucepan 
in  the  other.  I  detached  her  from  themf 
clasped  her  big,  capable  red  hands  and  dragged 
her  up  the  stairs,  explaining  as  I  went. 

"  Now  don't  fuss  about  that  supper !  Let 
'em  wait.  You  must  see  her  before  Herr  Nir- 

[147] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

langer  comes  home.  He's  due  any  minute. 
She  looks  like  a  girl.  So  young !  And  ac 
tually  pretty !  And  her  figure  —  divine ! 
Funny  what  a  difference  a  decent  pair  of  corsets, 
and  a  gown,  and  some  puffs  will  make,  h'm?  " 

Frau  Knapf  was  panting  as  I  pulled  her 
after  me  in  swift  eagerness.  Between  puffs  she 
brought  out  exclamations  of  surprise  and  unbe 
lief  such  as:  "  Vnmdglich!  (Puff!  Puff!) 
Aber  —  wunderbar/  (Puff!  Puff!) 

We  stopped  before  Frau  Nirlanger's  door. 
I  struck  a  dramatic  pose.  "  Prepare !  "  I  cried 
grandly,  and  threw  open  the  door  with  a  bang. 

Crouched  against  the  wall  at  a  far  corner 
of  the  room  was  Frau  Nirlanger.  Her  hands 
were  clasped  over  her  breast  and  her  eyes  were 
dilated  as  though  she  had  been  running.  In 
the  center  of  the  room  stood  Konrad  Nirlanger, 
and  on  his  oogly  face  was  the  very  oogliest  look 
that  I  have  ever  seen  on  a  man.  He  glanced  at 
us  as  we  stood  transfixed  in  the  doorway,  and 
laughed  a  short,  sneering  laugh  that  was  like 
a  stinging  blow  on  the  cheek. 

"  So!  "  he  said;  and  I  would  not  have  be 
lieved  that  men  really  said  "  So !  "  in  that  way 
outside  of  a  melodrama.  "  So !  You  are  in 
the  little  surprise,  yes?  You  carry  your  med 
dling  outside  of  your  newspaper  work,  eh?  I 
[148] 


A  TRAGEDY  OF  GOWNS 

leave  behind  me  an  old  wife  in  the  morning  and 
in  the  evening,  presto!  I  find  a  young  bride. 
Wonderful! — but  wonderful!"  He  laughed 
an  unmusical  and  mirthless  laugh. 

"  But  —  don't  you  like  it?  "  I  asked,  like  a 
simpleton. 

Frau  Nirlanger  seemed  to  shrink  before  our 
very  eyes,  so  that  the  pretty  gown  hung  in  limp 
folds  about  her. 

I  stared,  fascinated,  at  Konrad  Nirlanger's 
cruel  face  with  its  little  eyes  that  were 
too  close  together  and  its  chin  that  curved 
in  below  the  mouth  and  out  again  so  gro 
tesquely. 

"Like  it?"  sneered  Konrad  Nirlanger. 
"  For  a  young  girl,  yes.  But  how  useless,  this 
belated  trousseau.  What  a  waste  of  good 
money!  For  see,  a  young  wife  I  do  not  want. 
Young  women  one  can  have  in  plenty,  always. 
But  I  have  an  old  woman  married,  and  for  an 
old  woman  the  gowns  need  be  few  —  eh,  Frau 
Orme?  And  you  too,  Frau  Knapf  ?  " 

Frau  Knapf,  crimson  and  staring,  was  dumb. 
There  came  a  little  shivering  moan  from  the 
I  figure  crouched  in  the  corner,  and  Frau  Nir- 
j  langer,  her  face  queerly  withered  and  ashen, 
i  crumpled  slowly  in  a  little  heap  on  the  floor 
i  and  buried  her  shamed  head  in  her  arms. 

[149] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

Konrad  Nirlanger  turned  to  his  wife,  the 
black  look  on  his  face  growing  blacker. 

"  Come,  get  up  Anna,"  he  ordered,  in  Ger 
man.  "  These  heroics  become  not  a  woman  of 
your  years.  And  too,  you  must  not  ruin  the  so 
costly  gown  that  will  be  returned  to-morrow." 

Frau  Nirlanger's  white  face  was  lifted  from 
the  shelter  of  her  arms.  The  stricken  look  was 
still  upon  it,  but  there  was  no  cowering  in  her  at 
titude  now.  Slowly  she  rose  to  her  feet.  I 
had  not  realized  that  she  was  so  tall. 

''  The  gown  does  not  go  back,"  she  said. 

"  So?  "  he  snarled,  with  a  savage  note  in  his 
voice.  "  Now  hear  me.  There  shall  be  no 
more  buying  of  gowns  and  fripperies.  You 
hear?  It  is  for  the  wife  to  come  to  the  hus 
band  for  the  money;  not  for  her  to  waste  it 
wantonly  on  gowns,  like  a  creature  of  the  streets. 
You,"  his  voice  was  an  insult,  "  you,  with  your 
Wrinkles  and  your  faded  eyes  in  a  gown  of  — " 
he  turned  inquiringly  toward  me — "  How  does 
one  call  it,  that  color,  Frau  Orme  ?  " 

There  came  a  blur  of  tears  to  my  eyes.  "  It 
is  called  ashes  of  roses,"  I  answered.  "  Ashes 
of  roses." 

Konrad  Nirlanger  threw  back  his  head  and 
laughed  a  laugh  as  stinging  as  a  whip-lash. 
"  Ashes  of  roses !  So  ?  It  is  well  named.  For 


A  TRAGEDY  OF  GOWNS 

my  dear  wife  it  is  poetically  fit,  is  it  not  so? 
For  see,  her  roses  are  but  withered  ashes,  eh 
Anna?'5 

Deliberately  and  in  silence  Anna  Nirlanger 
walked  to  the  mirror  and  stood  there,  gazing  at 
the  woman  in  the  glass.  There  was  something 
dreadful  and  portentous  about  the  calm  and 
studied  deliberation  with  which  she  critically 
viewed  that  reflection.  She  lifted  her  arms 
slowly  and  patted  into  place  the  locks  that  had 
become  disarranged,  turning  her  head  from  side 
to  side  to  study  the  effect.  Then  she  took  from 
a  drawer  the  bit  of  chamois  skin  that  I  had 
given  her,  and  passed  it  lightly  over  her  eye 
lids  and  cheeks,  humming  softly  to  herself  the 
while.  No  music  ever  sounded  so  uncanny  to 
my  ears.  The  woman  before  the  mirror  looked 
at  the  woman  in  the  mirror  with  a  long,  steady, 
measuring  look.  Then,  slowly  and  deliber 
ately,  the  long  graceful  folds  of  her  lovely  gown 
trailing  behind  her,  she  walked  over  to  where 
her  frowning  husband  stood.  So  might  a  queen 
have  walked,  head  held  high,  gaze  steady. 
She  stopped  within  half  a  foot  of  him,  her  eyes 
level  with  his.  For  a  long  half-minute  they 
stood  thus,  the  faded  blue  eyes  of  the  wife  gaz 
ing  into  the  sullen  black  eyes  of  the  husband, 
and  his  were  the  first  to  drop,  for  all  the  noble 


DAWN  (i'HARA 

blood  in  Anna  Nirlanger's  veins,  and  all  her 
long  line  of  gently  bred  ancestors  were  coming 
to  her  aid  in  dealing  with  her  middle-class  hus 
band. 

"  You  forget/'  she  said,  very  slowly  and  dis 
tinctly.  "  If  this  were  Austria,  instead  of 
Amerika,  you  would  not  forget.  In  Austria 
people  of  your  class  do  not  speak  in  this  man 
ner  to  those  of  my  caste." 

" Unsinn! "  laughed  Konrad  Nirlanger. 
"  This  is  Amerika." 

"  Yes,"  said  Anna  Nirlanger,  "  this  is  Amer 
ika.  And  in  Amerika  all  things  are  different. 
I  see  now  that  my  people  knew  of  what  they 
spoke  when  they  called  me  mad  to  think  of  wed 
ding  a  clod  of  the  people,  such  as  you." 

For  a  moment  I  thought  that  he  was  going  to 
strike  her.  I  think  he  would  have,  if  she  had 
flinched.  But  she  did  not.  Her  head  was 
held  high,  and  her  eyes  did  not  waver. 

"  I  married  you  for  love.  It  is  most  comi 
cal,  is  it  not?  With  you  I  thought  I  should 
find  peace,  and  happiness  and  a  re-birth  of  the 
intellect  that  was  being  smothered  in  the 
splendor  and  artificiality  and  the  restrictions  of 
my  life  there.  Well,  I  was  wrong.  But 
wrong.  Now  hear  me!  "  Her  voke  was 


A  TRAGEDY  OF  GOWNS 

tense  with  passion.  "  There  will  be  gowns  — 
as  many  and  as  rich  as  I  choose.  You  have 
said  many  times  that  the  ladies  of  Amerika  you 
admire.  And  see  !  I  shall  be  also  one  of  those 
so-admired  ladies.  My  money  shall  go  for 
gowns !  For  hats !  For  trifles  of  lace  and  vel 
vet  and  fur!  You  shall  learn  that  it  is  not  a 
peasant  woman  whom  you  have  married.  This 
is  Amerika,  the  land  of  the  free,  my  husband. 
And  see!  Who  is  more  of  Amerika  than  I? 
Who?" 

She  laughed  a  high  little  laugh  and  came 
over  to  me,  taking  my  hands  in  her  own. 

"  Dear  girl,  you  must  run  quickly  and  dress. 
For  this  evening  we  go  to  the  theater.  Oh, 
but  you  must.  There  shall  be  no  unpleasant 
ness,  that  I  promise.  My  husband  accom 
panies  us  —  with  joy.  Is  it  not  so,  Konrad? 
With  joy?  So!" 

Wildly  I  longed  to  decline,  but  I  dared  not. 
So  I  only  nodded,  for  fear  of  the  great  lump 
in  my  throat,  and  taking  Frau  Knapf's  hand 
I  turned  and  fled  with  her.  Frau  Knapf  was 
muttering : 

"  Du  Hund !  Du  unverschamter  Hund  du !  " 
in  good  Billingsgate  German,  and  wiping  her 
eyes  with  her  apron.  And  I  dressed  with 


DAWN  O'HARA 

trembling  fingers  because  I  dared  not  otherwise 
face  the  brave  little  Austrian,  the  plucky  lit 
tle  aborigine  who,  with  the  donning  of  the  new 
Amerikanische  gown  had  acquired  some  real 
Amerikamsch  nerve0 


1*54] 


CHAPTER  XI 

VON   GERHARD   SPEAKS 

Von  Gerhard  I  had  not  had  a  glimpse 
since  that  evening  of  my  hysterical  out 
burst.  On  Christmas  day  there  had  come  a 
box  of  roses  so  huge  that  I  could  not  find  vases 
enough  to  hold  its  contents,  although  I  pressed 
into  service  everything  from  Mason  jars  from 
the  kitchen  to  hand-painted  atrocities  from  the 
parlor.  After  I  had  given  posies  to  Frau 
Nirlanger,  and  fastened  a  rose  in  Frau  Knapf's 
hard  knob  of  hair,  where  it  bobbed  in  ludicrous 
discomfort,  I  still  had  enough  to  fill  the  wash 
bowl.  My  room  looked  like  a  grand  opera 
star's  boudoir  when  she  is  expecting  the  news 
paper  reporters.  I  reveled  in  the  glowing  fra 
grance  of  the  blossoms  and  felt  very  eastern  and 
luxurious  and  popular.  It  had  been  a  busy, 
happy,  work-filled  week,  in  which  I  had  had  to 
snatch  odd  moments  for  the  selecting  of  cer 
tain  wonderful  toys  for  the  Spalpeens.  There 
had  been  dolls  and  doll-clothes  and  a  marvelous 
miniature  kitchen  for  the  practical  and  stolid 

[155] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

Sheila,  and  ingenious  bits  of  mechanism  that  did 
unbelievable  things  when  wound  up,  for  the 
clever,  imaginative  Hans.  I  was  not  to  have 
the  joy  of  seeing  their  wide-eyed  delight,  but  I 
knew  that  there  would  follow  certain  labor- 
iously  scrawled  letters,  filled  with  topsy-turvy 
capitals  and  crazily  leaning  words  of  thanks  to 
the  doting  old  auntie  who  had  been  such  good 
fun  the  summer  before. 

Boarding-house  Christmases  had  become  an 
old  story.  I  had  learned  to  accept  them,  even 
to  those  obscure  and  foreign  parts  of  turkey 
which  are  seen  only  on  boarding-house  plates, 
and  which  would  be  recognized  nowhere  else 
as  belonging  to  that  stately  bird. 

Christmas  at  Knapf's  had  been  a  happy  sur 
prise;  a  day  of  hearty  good  cheer  and  kind 
ness.  There  had  even  been  a  Christmas  tree, 
hung  with  stodgy  German  angels  and  Pfeffer- 
nuesse  and  pink-frosted  cakes.  I  found  myself 
the  bewildered  recipient  of  gifts  from  every 
one  —  from  the  Knapfs,  and  the  aborigines 
and  even  from  one  of  the  crushed-looking  wives* 
The  aborigine  whom  they  called  Fritz  had  pre 
sented  me  with  a  huge  and  imposing  Lebkuchen^ ' 
reposing  in  a  box  with  frilled  border,  orna- 
mented  with  quaint  little  red-and-green  Ger^ 
man  figures  in  sugar,  and  labeled  Nurnberg  in 


VON  GERHARD  SPEAKS 

stout  letters,  for  it  had  come  all  the  way  from 
that  kuchen-famous  city.  The  Lebkuchen  I 
placed  on  my  mantel  shelf  as  befitted  so  magnif 
icent  a  work  of  art.  It  was  quite  too  elabo 
rate  and  imposing  to  be  sent  the  way  of  or 
dinary  food,  although  it  had  a  certain 
tantalizingly  spicy  scent  that  tempted  one  to 
break  off  a  corner  here  and  there. 

On  the  afternoon  of  Christmas  day  I  sat 
down  to  thank  Dr.  von  Gerhard  for  the  flowers 
as  prettily  as  might  be.  Also  I  asked  his  par 
don,  a  thing  not  hard  to  do  with  the  perfume 
of  his  roses  filling  the  room. 

"  For  you,"  I  wrote,  "  who  are  so  wise  in, 
the  ways  of  those  tricky  things  called  nerves, 
must  know  that  it  was  only  a  mild  hysteria  that 
made  me  say  those  most  unladylike  things.  I 
have  written  Norah  all  about  it.  She  has  re 
plied,  advising  me  to  stick  to  the  good-fellow 
role  but  not  to  dress  the  part.  So  when  next 
you  see  me  I  shall  be  a  perfectly  safe  and  sane 
comrade  in  petticoats.  And  I  promise  you  — • 
no  more  outbursts." 

So  it  happened  that  on  the  afternoon  of  New 
Year's  day  Von  Gerhard  and  I  gravely  wished 
one  another  many  happy  and  impossible  things 
for  the  coming  year,  looking  fairly  and  squarely 
into  each  other's  eyes  as  we  did  so. 

[157] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

"  So,"  said  Von  Gerhard,  as  one  who  is  sat 
isfied.  "  The  nerfs  are  steady  to-day.  What 
do  you  say  to  a  brisk  walk  along  the  lake  shore 
to  put  us  in  a  New  Year  frame  of  mind,  and 
then  a  supper  down-town  somewhere,  with  a 
toast  to  Max  and  Norah?  " 

"  You've  saved  my  life!  Sit  down  here  in 
the  parlor  and  gaze  at  the  crepe-paper  oranges 
while  I  powder  my  nose  and  get  into  some  street 
clothes.  I  have  such  a  story  to  tell  youl  It 
has  made  me  quite  contented  with  my  lot." 

The  story  was  that  of  the  Nirlangers;  and 
as  we  struggled  against  a  brisk  lake  breeze  I 
told  it,  and  partly  because  of  the  breeze,  and 
partly  because  of  the  story,  there  were  tears  in 
my  eyes  when  I  had  finished.  Von  Gerhard 
stared  at  me,  aghast. 

"But  you  are  —  crying!"  he  marveled, 
watching  a  tear  slide  down  my  nose. 

"  I'm  not,"  I  retorted.  "  Anyway  I  know 
it  I  think  I  may  blubber  if  I  choose  to,  mayn't 
I,  as  well  as  other  women?  " 

"  Blubber?"  repeated  Von  Gerhard,  he  of 
the  careful  and  cautious  English.  "  But  most 
certainly,  if  you  wish.  I  had  thought  that  news 
paper  women  did  not  indulge  in  the  luxury  of 
tears." 

"They  don't — -  often.  Haven't  the  time. 
[158] 


VON  GERHARD  SPEAKS 

If  a  woman  reporter  were  to  burst  into  tears* 
every  time  she  saw  something  to  weep  over  she'd 
be  going  about  with  a  red  nose  and  puffy  eye 
lids  half  the  time.  Scarcely  a  day  passes  that 
does  not  bring  her  face  to  face  with  human 
suffering  in  some  form.  Not  only  must  she 
see  these  things,  but  she  must  write  of  them  so 
that  those  who  read  can  also  see  them.  And 
just  because  she  does  not  wail  and  tear  her  hair 
and  faint  she  popularly  is  supposed  to  be  a  flinty, 
cigarette-smoking  creature  who  rampages  up  and 
down  the  land,  seeking  whom  she  may  rend  with 
her  pen  and  gazing,  dry-eyed,  upon  scenes  of 
horrid  bloodshed." 

"  And  yet  the  little  domestic  tragedy  of  the 
Nirlangers  can  bring  tears  to  your  eyes?  " 

"  Oh,  that  was  quite  different.  The  case  of 
the  Nirlangers  had  nothing  to  do  with  Dawn 
O'Hara,  newspaper  reporter.  It  was  just  plain 
Dawn  O'Hara,  woman,  who  witnessed  that  little 
tragedy.  Mein  Himmel !  Are  all  German  hus 
bands  like  that?  " 

"  Not  all.  I  have  a  very  good  friend  named 
Max—" 

"  O,  Max !  Max  is  an  angel  husband. 
Fancy  Max  and  Norah  waxing  tragic  on  the 
subject  of  a  gown !  Now  you  — " 

"  I  ?     Come,    you    are    sworn    to    good-fel- 


DAWN  O'HARA 

lowship.  As  one  comrade  to  another,  tell  me, 
what  sort  of  husband  do  you  think  I  should 
make,  eh?  The  boorish  Nirlanger  sort,  or 
the  charming  Max  variety.  Come,  tell  me  — 
you  who  always  have  seemed  so  —  so  dam 
nably  able  to  take  care  of  yourself/*  His  eyes 
were  twinkling  in  the  maddening  way  they  had. 

I  looked  out  across  the  lake  to  where  a  line 
of  white-caps  was  piling  up  formidably  only  to 
break  in  futile  wrath  against  the  solid  wall  of 
the  shore.  And  there  came  over  me  an  equally 
futile  wrath;  that  savage,  unreasoning  instinct 
in  women  which  prompts  them  to  hurt  those 
whom  they- love. 

"  Oh,  you !  "  I  began,  with  Von  Gerhard's 
amused  eyes  laughing  down  upon  me.  "  I 
should  say  that  you  would  be  more  in  the  Nir 
langer  style,  in  your  large,  immovable,  German- 
sure  way.  Not  that  you  would  stoop  to 
wrangle  about  money  or  gowns,  but  that  you 
would  control  those  things.  Your  wife  will  be  a 
placid,  blond,  rather  plump  German  Fraulein, 
of  excellent  family  and  no  imagination.  Men 
of  your  type  always  select  negative  wives. 
Twenty  years  ago  she  would  have  run  to  bring 
you  your  Zeitung  and  your  slippers.  She  would 
be  that  kind,  if  Zeitung-and-slipper  husbands 
still  were  in  existence.  You  will  be  fond  of  her, 


VON  GERHARD  SPEAKS 

in  a  patronizing  sort  of  way,  and  she  will  never 
know  the  difference  between  that  and  being 
loved,  not  having  a  great  deal  of  imagination,  as 
I  have  said  before.  And  you  will  go  on  be 
coming  more  and  more  famous,  and  she  will 
grow  plumper  and  more  placid,  and  less  and  less 
understanding  of  what  those  komisch  medical 
journals  have  to  say  so  often  about  her  husband 
who  is  always  discovering  things.  And  you 
will  live  happily  ever  after — " 

A  hand  gripped  my  shoulder.  I  looked  up, 
startled,  into  two  blue  eyes  blazing  down  into 
mine.  Von  Gerhard's  face  was  a  painful  red. 
I  think  that  the  hand  on  my  shoulder  even 
shook  me  a  little,  there  on  that  bleak  and  de 
serted  lake  drive.  I  tried  to  wrench  my  shoul 
der  free  with  a  jerk. 

"  You  are  hurting  me!  "  I  cried. 

A  quiver  of  pain  passed  over  the  face  that  I 
had  thought  so  calmly  unemotional.  u  You  talk 
of  hurts!  You,  who  set  out  deliberately  and 
maliciously  to  make  me  suffer !  How  dare  you 
then  talk  to  me  like  this!  You  stab  with  a 
hundred  knives  —  you,  who  know  how  I  — " 

"  I'm  sorry,"  I  put  in,  contritely.     "  Please 

don't  be  so  dreadful  about  it.     After  all,  you 

asked  me,  didn't  you  ?     Perhaps  I've  hurt  your 

vanity.     There,  I  didn't  mean  that,  either.     Oh, 

[161] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

dear,    let's   talk   about   something   impersonal. 
We  get  along  wretchedly  of  late." 

The  angry  red  ebbed  away  from  Von  Ger 
hard's  face.  The  blaze  of  wrath  in  his  eyes 
gave  way  to  a  deeper,  brighter  light  that  held  me 
fascinated,  and  there  came  to  his  lips  a  smile 
of  rare  sweetness.  The  hand  that  had  grasped 
my  shoulder  slipped  down,  down,  until  it  met 
my  hand  and  gripped  it. 

"  Na,  's  ist  schon  recht,  Kindchen.  Those 
that  we  most  care  for  we  would  hurt  always. 
When  I  have  told  you  of  my  love  for  you,  al 
though  already  you  know  it,  then  you  will  tell 
me.  Hush!  Do  not  deny  this  thing.  There 
shall  be  no  more  lies  between  us.  There  shall 
be  only  the  truth,  and  no  more  about  plump, 
blonde  German  wives  who  run  with  Zeitung  and 
slippers.  After  all,  it  is  no  secret.  Three 
months  ago  I  told  Norah.  It  was  not  news  to 
her.  But  she  trusted  me." 

I  felt  my  face  to  be  as  white  and  as  tense 
as  his  own.  "  Norah  —  knows !  " 

"  It  is  better  to  speak  these  things.  Then 
there  need  be  no  shifting  of  the  eyes,  no  evasive! 
words,  no  tricks,  no  subterfuge." 

We  had  faced  about  and  were  retracing  our 
steps,  past  the  rows  of  peculiarly  home-like 
houses  that  line  Milwaukee's  magnificent  lake 


VON  GERHARD  SPEAKS 

shore.  Windows  were  hung  with  holiday  scar 
let  and  holly,  and  here  and  there  a  face  was 
visible  at  a  window,  looking  out  at  the  man  and 
woman  walking  swiftly  along  the  wind-swept 
heights  that  rose  far  above  the  lake. 

A  wretched  revolt  seized  me  as  I  gazed  at 
the  substantial  comfort  of  those  normal,  happy 
homes. 

"Why  did  you  tell  me!  What  good  can 
that  do  ?  At  least  we  were  make-believe  friends 
before.  Suppose  I  were  to  tell  you  that  I  care, 
then  what." 

"  I  do  not  ask  you  to  tell  me,"  Von  Gerhard 
replied,  quietly. 

"  You  need  not.  You  know.  You  knew 
long,  long  ago.  You  know  I  love  the  big  quiet 
ness  of  you,  and  your  sureness,  and  the  German, 
way  you  have  of  twisting  your  sentences  about, 
and  the  steady  grip  of  your  great  firm  hands, 
and  the  rareness  of  your  laugh,  and  the  sim 
plicity  of  you.  Why  I  love  the  very  cleanliness 
of  your  ruddy  skin,  and  the  way  your  hair 
grows  away  from  your  forehead,  and  your  walk, 
^and  your  voice  and  —  Oh,  what  is  the  use  of  it 
all?" 

"  Just  this,  Dawn.  The  light  of  day  sweet 
ens  all  things.  We  have  dragged  this  thing  out 
into  the  sunlight,  where,  if  it  grows,  it  will  grow 


DAWN  O'HARA 

sanely  and  healthily.  It  was  but  an  ugly,  dis« 
torted,  unsightly  thing,  sending  out  pale  un 
healthy  shoots  in  the  dark,  unwholesome  cellars 
of  our  inner  consciences.  Norah's  knowing  was 
the  cleanest,  sweetest  thing  about  it.'* 

"  How  wonderfully  you  understand  her,  and 
how  right  you  are!  Her  knowing  seems  to 
make  it  as  it  should  be,  doesn't  it?  I  am  braver 
already,  for  the  knowledge  of  it.  It  shall  make 
no  difference  between  us?  " 

"  There  is  no  difference,  Dawn,"  said  he. 

"  No.  It  is  only  in  the  story-books  that  they 
sigh,  and  groan  and  utter  silly  nonsense.  We 
are  not  like  that.  Perhaps,  after  a  bit,  you 
will  meet  some  one  you  care  for  greatly  —  not 
plump,  or  blond,  or  German,  perhaps,  but 
still  — " 

"  Doch  you  are  flippant?" 

"  I  must  say  those  things  to  keep  the  tears 
back.  You  would  not  have  me  wailing  here 
in  the  street.  Tell  me  just  one  thing,  and  there 
shall  be  no  more  fluttering  breaths  and  languish 
ing  looks.  Tell  me,  when  did  you  begin  to 
care?" 

We  had  reached  Knapfs'  door-step.  The 
short  winter  day  was  already  drawing  to  its 
close.  In  the  half-light  Von  Gerhard's  eyes 
glowed  luminous. 


VON  GERHARD  SPEAKS 

"  Since  the  day  I  first  met  you  at  Norah's," 
he  said,  simply. 

I  stared  at  him,  aghast,  my  ever-present  sense 
of  hurnor  struggling  to  the  surface.  "  Not  — - 
not  on  that  day  when  you  came  into  the  room 
where  I  sat  in  the  chair  by  the  window,  with  a 
flowered  quilt  humped  about  my  shoulders  1 
And  a  fever-sore  twisting  my  mouth !  And  my 
complexion  the  color  of  cheese,  and  my  hair  plas 
tered  back  from  my  forehead,  and  my  eyes  like 
boiled  onions !  " 

"  Thank  God  for  your  gift  of  laughter," 
Von  Gerhard  said,  and  took  my  hand  in  his  for 
one  brief  moment  before  he  turned  and  walked 
away. 

Quite  prosaically  I  opened  the  big  front  door 
at  Knapfs'  to  find  Herr  Knapf  standing  in  the 
hallway  with  his: 

"  Nabben',  Frau  Orme." 

And  there  was  the  sane  and  soothing  scent 
of  Wienerschnitzel  and  spluttering  things  in 
the  air.  And  I  ran  upstairs  to  my  room  and 
turned  on  all  the  lights  and  looked  at  the  starry- 
eyed  creature  in  the  mirror.  Then  I  took  the 
biggest,  newest  photograph  of  Norah  from  the 
mantel  and  looked  at  her  for  a  long,  long  min 
ute,  while  she  looked  back  at  me  in  her  brave 
true  way. 


DAWN  O'HARA 

"  Thank  you,  dear,"  I  said  to  her.  "  Thank 
you.  Would  you  think  me  stagey  and  silly  if 
I  were  to  kiss  you,  just  once,  on  your  beau 
tiful  trusting  eyes?  " 

A  telephone  bell  tinkled  downstairs  and  Herr 
Knapf  stationed  himself  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs 
and  roared  my  name. 

When  I  had  picked  up  the  receiver:  '  This 
is  Ernst,"  said  the  voice  at  the  other  end  of  the 
wire.  ",I  have  just  remembered  that  I  had 
asked  you  down-town  for  supper." 

"  I  would  rather  thank  God  fasting,"  I  re 
plied,  very  softly,  and  hung  the  receiver  on  its 
hook. 


[166] 


CHAPTER  XII 

BENNIE   THE    CONSOLER 

T  N  a  corner  of  Frau  Nirlanger's  bedroom, 
•*-  sheltered  from  draughts  and  glaring  light, 
is  a  little  wooden  bed,  painted  blue  and  or 
namented  with  stout  red  roses  that  are  faded 
by  time  and  much  abuse.  Every  evening  at 
eight  o'clock  three  anxious-browed  women  hold 
low-spoken  conclave  about  the  quaint  old  bed, 
while  ifs  occupant  sleeps  and  smiles  as  he  sleeps, 
and  dc^ps  to  his  breast  a  chewed-looking  woolly 
dog.  For  a  new  joy  has  come  to  the  sad  little 
Frau  Nirlanger,  and  I,  quite  by  accident,  was 
the  cause  of  bringing  it  to  her.  The  queer 
little  blue  bed,  with  its  faded  roses,  was  brought 
down  from  the  attic  by  Frau  Knapf,  for  she  is 
one  of  the  three  foster  mothers  of  the  small  oc 
cupant  of  the  bed.  The  occupant  of  the  bed  is 
named  Bennie,  and  a  corporation  formed  for  the 
purpose  of  bringing  him  up  in  the  way  he  should 
go  is  composed  of:  Dawn  O'Hara  Orme,  Pres 
ident  and  Distracted  Guardian;  Mrs.  Konrad 
Nirlanger,  Cuddler-in-chief  and  Authority  on  the 


DAWN  O'HARA 

Subject  of  Bennie's  Bed-time;  Mr.  Blackie  Grif 
fith,  Good  Angel,  General  Cut-up  and  Monitor 
off'n  Bennie's  Neckties  and  Toys;  Dr.  Ernst 
von  Gerhard,  Chief  Medical  Adviser,  and 
Sweller  of  the  Exchequer,  with  the  Privilege  of 
Selecting  All  Candies.  Members  of  the  corpor 
ation  meet  with  great  frequency  evenings  and 
Sundays,  much  to  the  detriment  of  a  certain 
Book-in-the-making  with  which  Dawn  O'Hara 
Orme  was  wont  to  struggle  o'  evenings. 

Bennie  had  been  one  of  those  little  tragedies 
that  find  their  way  into  Juvenile  court.  Bennie's 
story  was  common  enough,  but  Bennie  himself 
had  been  different.  Ten  minutes  after  his  first 
appearance  in  the  court  room  everyone,  from  the 
big,  bald  judge  to  the  newest  probation  officer, 
had  fallen  in  love  with  him.  Somehow,  you 
wanted  to  smooth  the  hair  from  his  forehead, 
tip  his  pale  little  face  upward,  and  very  gently 
kiss  his  smooth,  white  brow.  Which  alone  was 
enough  to  distinguish  Bennie,  for  Juvenile  court 
children,  as  a  rule,  are  distinctly  not  kissable. 
,  Bennie's  mother  was  accused  of  being  unfit 
(to  care  for  her  boy,  and  Bennie  was  tempo 
rarily  installed  in  the  Detention  Home.  There 
the  superintendent  and  his  plump  and  kindly 
wife  had  fallen  head  over  heels  in  love  with 
him,  and  had  dressed  him  in  a  smart  little  Nor- 
[168] 


BENNIE  THE  CONSOLER 

folk  suit  and  a  frivolous  plaid  silk  tie.  There 
were  delays  in  the  case,  and  postponement  after 
postponement,  so  that  Bennie  appeared  in  the 
court  room  every  Tuesday  for  four  weeks.  The 
reporters,  and  the  probation  officers  and  police 
men  became  very  chummy  with  Bennie,  and 
showered  him  with  bright  new  pennies  and  cer 
tain  wonderful  candies.  Superintendent  Arnett 
of  the  Detention  Home  was  as  proud  of  the 
boy  as  though  he  were  his  own.  And  when, 
Bennie  would  look  shyly  and  questioningly  into 
his  face  for  permission  to  accept  the  proffered 
offerings,  the  big  superintendent  would  chuckle 
delightedly.  Bennie  had  a  strangely  mobile 
face  for  such  a  baby,  and  the  whitest,  smooth 
est  brow  I  have  ever  seen. 

The  comedy  and  tears  and  misery  and  laugh 
ter  of  the  big,  white-walled  court  room  were  too 
much  for  Bennie.  He  would  gaze  about  with 
puzzled  blue  eyes;  then,  giving  up  the  situation 
as  something  too  vast  for  his  comprehension, 
he  would  fall  to  drawing  curly-cues  on  a  bit  of 
paper  with  a  great  yellow  pencil  presented  him 
by  one  of  the  newspaper  men. 

Every  Tuesday  the   rows   of  benches  were 

packed  with  a  motley  crowd  of  Poles,  Russians, 

Slavs,  Italians,  Greeks,  Lithuanians  —  a  crowd 

made  up  of  fathers,  mothers,  sisters,  brothers, 

[169] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

aunts,  uncles,  neighbors,  friends,  and  enemies  of 
the  boys  and  girls  whose  fate  was  in  the  hands 
of  the  big  man  seated  in  the  revolving  chair  up 
in  front.  But  Bennie's  mother  was  not  of  this 
crowd;  this  pitiful,  ludicrous  crowd  filling  the 
great  room  with  the  stifling,  rancid  odor  of  the 
poor.  Nor  was  Bennie.  He  sat,  clear-eyed 
and  unsmiling,  in  the  depths  of  a  great  chair  on 
the  court  side  of  the  railing  and  gravely  received 
the  attentions  of  the  lawyers,  and  reporters  and 
court  room  attaches  who  had  grown  fond  of 
the  grave  little  figure. 

Then,  on  the  fifth  Tuesday,  Bennie's  mother 
appeared.  How  she  had  come  to  be  that  child's 
mother  God  only  knows  —  or  perhaps  He  had 
had  nothing  to  do  with  it.  She  was  terribly 
sober  and  frightened.  Her  face  was  swollen 
and  bruised,  and  beneath  one  eye  there  was  a 
puffy  green-and-blue  swelling.  Her  sordid 
story  was  common  enough  as  the  probation 
officer  told  it.  The  woman  had  been  living  in 
one  wretched  room  with  the  boy.  Her  husband 
had  deserted  her.  There  was  no  food,  and 
little  furniture.  The  queer  feature  of  it,  said 
the  probation  officer,  was  that  the  woman  man 
aged  to  keep  the  boy  fairly  neat  and  clean,  re 
gardless  of  her  own  condition,  and  he  generally 
had  food  of  some  sort,  although  the  mother 
[170] 


BENNIE  THE  CONSOLER 

sometimes  went  without  food  for  days. 
Through  the  squalor  and  misery  and  degrada 
tion  of  her  own  life  Bennie  had  somehow  been 
*feept  unsullied,  a  thing  apart. 

"  H'm !  "  said  Judge  Wheeling,  and  looked 
at  Bennie.  Bennie  was  standing  beside  his 
mother.  He  was  very  quiet,  and  his  eyes  were 
smiling  up  into  those  of  the  battered  crea 
ture  who  was  fighting  for  him.  "  I  guess  we'll 
have  to  take  you  out  of  this,"  the  judge  de 
cided,  abruptly.  "  That  boy  is  too  good  to  go 
to  waste." 

The  sodden,  dazed  woman  before  him  did 
not  immediately  get  the  full  meaning  of  his 
words.  She  still  stood  there,  swaying  a  bit, 
and  staring  unintelligently  at  the  judge.  Then, 
quite  suddenly,  she  realized  it.  She  took  a 
quick  step  forward.  Her  hand  went  up  to  her 
breast,  to  her  throat,  to  her  lips,  with  an  odd, 
stifled  gesture. 

"  You  ain't  going  to  take  him  away !  From 
me!  No,  you  wouldn't  do  that,  would  you? 
Not  for  —  not  for  always!  You  wouldn't  do 
that  —  you  wouldn't — " 

Judge  Wheeling  waved  her  away.  But  the 
woman  dropped  to  her  knees. 

'Judge,  give  me  a  chance!     I'll  stop  drink 
ing.     Only    don't   take    him    away    from   me! 


DAWN  O'HARA 

Don't,  Judge,  don't!  He's  all  I've  got  in  the 
world.  Give  me  a  chance.  Three  months ! 
Six  months!  A  year!  " 

"  Get  up !  "  ordered  Judge  Wheeling,  gruffly, 
"  and  stop  that !  It  won't  do  you  a  bit  of 
good." 

And  then  a  wonderful  thing  happened.  The 
woman  rose  to  her  feet.  A  new  and  strange 
dignity  had  come  into  her  battered  face.  The 
lines  of  suffering  and  vice  were  erased  as  by 
magic,  and  she  seemed  to  grow  taller,  younger, 
almost  beautiful.  When  she  spoke  again  it  was 
slowly  and  distinctly,  her  words  quite  free  from 
the  blur  of  the  barroom  and  street  vernacular. 

"  I  tell  you  you  must  give  me  a  chance. 
You  cannot  take  a  child  from  a  mother  in  this 
way.  I  tell  you,  if  you  will  only  help  me  I  can 
crawl  back  up  the  road  that  I've  traveled.  I 
was  not  always  like  this.  There  was  another 
life,  before  —  before  —  Oh,  since  then  there 
have  been  years  of  blackness,  and  hunger,  and 
cold  and  —  worse!  But  I  never  dragged  the 
boy  into  it.  Look  at  him !  " 

Our  eyes  traveled  from  the  woman's  trans 
figured  face  to  that  of  the  boy.  We  could  trace 
a  wonderful  likeness  where  before  we  had  seep 
none.  But  the  woman  went  on  in  her  steadv, 
even  tone. 

[172] 


BENNIE  THE  CONSOLER 

"  I  can't  talk  as  I  should,  because  my  brain 
isn't  clear.  It's  the  drink.  When  you  drink, 
you  forget.  But  you  must  help  me.  I  can't 
do  it  alone.  I  can  remember  how  to  live 
straight,  just  as  I  can  remember  how  to  talk 
straight.  Let  me  show  you  that  I'm  not  all 
bad.  Give  me  a  chance.  Take  the  boy  and 
then  give  him  back  to  me  when  you  are  satis 
fied.  I'll  try  —  God  only  knows  how  I'll  try. 
Only  don't  take  him  away  forever,  Judge  I 
Don't  do  that!" 

Judge  Wheeling  ran  an  uncomfortable  finger 
around  his  collar's  edge. 

"Any  friends  living  here?" 

"No!     No!" 

"Sure  about  that?" 

"  Quite  sure." 

"  Now  see  here;  I'm  going  to  give  you  your 
chance.  I  shall  take  this  boy  away  from  you 
for  a  year.  In  that  time  you  will  stop  drink 
ing  and  become  a  decent,  self-supporting  woman. 
You  will  be  given  in  charge  of  one  of  these 
probation  officers.  She  will  find  work  for  you, 
and  a  good  home,  and  she'll  stand  by  you,  and 
you  must  report  to  her.  If  she  is  satisfied  with 
you  at  the  end  of  the  year,  the  boy  goes  back 
to  you." 

"  She   will   be   satisfied,"    the   woman    said, 

[173] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

simply.  She  stooped  and  taking  Bennie's  face 
between  her  hands  kissed  him  once,  i  hen  she 
stepped  aside  and  stood  quite  still,  looking  after 
the  little  figure  that  passed  out  of  the  court 
room  with  his  hand  in  that  of  a  big,  kindly 
police  officer.  She  looked  until  the  big  door 
had  opened  and  closed  upon  them. 

Then  —  well,  it  was  just  another  newspaper 
*tory.  It  made  a  good  one.  That  evening  I 
told  Frau  Nirlanger  about  it,  and  she  wept, 
softly,  and  murmured:  u  Ach,  das  arme 
baby!  Like  my  little  Oscar  he  is,  without  a 
mother."  I  told  Ernst  about  him  too,  and 
Blackie,  because  I  could  not  get  his  grave  little 
face  out  of  my  mind.  I  wondered  if  those  who 
had  charge  of  him  now  would  take  the  time 
to  bathe  the  little  body,  and  brush  the  soft  hair 
until  it  shone,  and  tie  the  gay  plaid  silk  tie  as  lov 
ingly  as  "  Daddy "  Arnett  of  the  Detention 
Home  had  done. 

Then  it  was  that  I,  quite  unwittingly,  stepped 
into  Bennie's  life. 

There  was  an  anniversary,  or  a  change  in 
the  board  of  directors,  or  a  new  coat  of  paint 
or  something  of  the  kind  in  one  of  the  orphan 
homes,  and  the  story  fell  to  me.  I  found  the 
orphan  home  to  be  typical  of  its  kind  —  a  big, 
dreary,  prison-like  structure.  The  woman  at 


BENNIE  THE  CONSOLER 

the  door  did  not  in  the  least  care  to  let  me  MB. 
She  was  a  fish-mouthed  woman  with  a  hard  eye, 
and  as  I  told  my  errand  her  mouth  grew  fish 
ier  and  the  eye  harder.  Finally  she  led  me 
down  a  long,  dark,  airless  stretch  of  corridor 
and  departed  in  search  of  the  matron,  leaving 
me  seated  in  the  unfriendly  reception  room,  with 
its  straight-backed  chairs  placed  stonily  against 
the  walls,  beneath  rows  of  red  and  blue  and 
yellow  religious  pictures. 

Just  as  I  was  wondering  why  it  seemed  im 
possible  to  be  holy  and  cheerful  at  the  same 
time,  there  came  a  pad-padding  down  the  cor 
ridor.  The  next  moment  the  matron  stood  in 
the  doorway.  She  was  a  mountainous,  red- 
faced  woman,  with  warts  on  her  nose. 

"  Good-afternoon,"  I  said,  sweetly.  ("  Ugh ! 
What  a  brute!")  I  thought.  Then  I  began  to 
explain  my  errand  once  more.  Criticism  of 
the  Home?  No  indeed,  I  assured  her.  At 
last,  convinced  of  my  disinterestedness  she  re 
luctantly  guided  me  about  the  big,  gloomy  build 
ing.  There  were  endless  flights  of  shiny  stairs, 
and  endless  stuffy,  airless  rooms,  until  we  came 
to  a  door  which  she  flung  open,  disclosing  the 
nursery.  It  seemed  to  me  that  there  were  a 
hundred  babies  —  babies  at  every  stage  of  de 
velopment,  of  all  sizes,  and  ages  and  types. 

[175] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

They  glanced  up  at  the  opening  of  the  door, 
and  then  a  dreadful  thing  happened. 

Every  child  that  was  able  to  walk  or  creep 
scuttled  into  the  farthest  corners  and  remained 
quite,  quite  still  with  a  wide-eyed  expression  of 
fear  and  apprehension  on  every  face. 

For  a  moment  my  heart  stood  still.  I  turned 
to  look  at  the  woman  by  my  side.  Her  thin 
lips  were  compressed  into  a  straight,  hard  line. 
She  said  a  word  to  a  nurse  standing  near,  and 
began  to  walk  about,  eying  the  children  sharply. 
She  put  out  a  hand  to  pat  the  head  of  one 
red-haired  mite  in  a  soiled  pinafore;  but  before 
her  hand  could  descend  I  saw  the  child  dodge 
and  the  tiny  hand  flew  up  to  the  head,  as  though 
in  defense. 

"  They  are  afraid  of  her !  "  my  sick  heart  told 
me.  "  Those  babies  are  afraid  of  her!  What 
does  she  do  to  them?  I  can't  stand  this.  I'm 
going." 

I  mumbled  a  hurried  "  Thank  you,"  to  the 
fat  matron  as  I  turned  to  leave  the  big,  bare 
room.  At  the  head  of  the  stairs  there  was  a1 
great,  black  door.  I  stopped  before  it  —  God 
knows  why !  —  and  pointed  toward  it. 

"What  is  in  that  room?"  I  asked.  Since 
then  I  have  wondered  many  times  at  the  unseen 
power  that  prompted  me  to  put  the  question. 


BENNIE  THE  CONSOLER 

The  stout  matron  bustled  on,  rattling  her 
keys  as  she  walked. 

"  That  —  oh,  that's  where  we  keep  the  incor- 
rigibles." 

"  May  I  see  them?  "  I  asked,  again  prompted 
by  that  inner  voice. 

"  There  is  only  one."  She  grudgingly  un 
locked  the  door,  using  one  of  the  great  keys 
that  swung  from  her  waist.  The  heavy,  black 
door  swung  open.  I  stepped  into  the  bare  room, 
lighted  dimly  by  one  small  window.  In  the 
farthest  corner  crouched  something  that  stirred 
and  glanced  up  at  our  entrance.  It  peered  at 
us  with  an  ugly  look  of  terror  and  defiance, 
and  I  stared  back  at  it,  in  the  dim  light.  Dur 
ing  one  dreadful,  breathless  second  I  remained 
staring,  while  my  heart  stood  still.  Then  — 
"Bennie!"  I  cried.  And  stumbled  toward 
him.  "Bennie  —  boy!" 

The  little  unkempt  figure,  in  its  soiled  knick- 
erbocker  suit,  the  sunny  hair  all  uncared  for,  the 
gay  plaid  tie  draggled  and  limp,  rushed  Into 
my  arms  with  a  crazy,  inarticulate  cry. 

Down  on  my  knees  on  the  bare  floor  I  held 
him  close  —  close !  and  his  arms  were  about  my 
neck  as  though  they  never  should  unclasp. 

"Take  me  away!  Take  me  away!"  His 
wet  cheek  was  pressed  against  my  own  stream- 

[177] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

ing  one.  "  I  want  my  mother !  I  want  Daddy 
ArnettI  Take  me  away!  " 

I  wiped  his  cheeks  with  my  notebook  or  some 
thing,  picked  him  up  in  my  arms,  and  started 
for  the  door.  I  had  quite  forgotten  the  fat 
matron. 

"  What  are  you  doing?  "  she  asked,  blocking 
the  doorway  with  her  huge  bulk. 

"  I'm  going  to  take  him  back  with  me. 
Please  let  me !  I'll  take  care  of  him  until  the 
year  is  up.  He  shan't  bother  you  any  more." 

"  That  is  impossible,"  she  said,  coldly.  "  He 
has  been  sent  here  by  the  court,  for  a  year, 
and  he  must  stay  here.  Besides,  he  is  a  stub 
born,  uncontrollable  child." 

"  Uncontrollable !  He's  nothing  of  the  kind ! 
Why  don't  you  treat  him  as  a  child  should  be 
treated,  instead  of  like  a  little  animal?  You 
don't  know  him!  Why,  he's  the  most  lov 
able —  !  And  he's  only  a  baby!  Can't  you 
see  that?  A  baby!" 

She  only  stared  her  dislike,  her  little  pig  eyes 
grown  smaller  and  more  glittering. 

"You  great  —  big  —  thing!"  I  shrieked  at 
her,  like  an  infuriated  child.  With  the  tears 
streaming  down  my  cheeks  I  unclasped  Bennie's 
cold  hands  from  about  my  neck.  He  clung  to 


BENNIE  THE  CONSOLER 

me,  frantically,  until  I  had  to  push  him  away 
and  run. 

The  woman  swung  the  door  shut,  and  locked 
it.  But  for  all  its  thickness  I  could  hear  Ben- 
nie's  helpless  fists  pounding  on  its  panels  as  I 
stumbled  down  the  stairs,  and  Bennie's  voice 
came  faintly  to  my  ears,  muffled  by  the  heavy 
door,  as  he  shrieked  to  me  to  take  him  away 
to  his  mother,  and  to  Daddy  Arnett. 

I  blubbered  all  the  way  back  in  the  car,  until 
everyone  stared,  but  I  didn't  care.  When  I 
reached  the  office  I  made  straight  for  Blackie's 
smoke-filled  sanctum.  When  my  tale  was  ended 
he  let  me  cry  all  over  his  desk,  with  my  head 
buried  in  a  heap  of  galley-proofs  and  my  tears 
watering  his  paste-pot.  He  sat  calmly  by, 
smoking.  Finally  he  began  gently  to  philoso 
phize.  "  Now  girl,  he's  prob'ly  better  off  there 
than  he  ever  was  at  home  with  his  mother  soused 
all  the  time.  Maybe  he  give  that  warty  matron 
friend  of  yours  all  kinds  of  trouble,  yellin'  for 
his  ma." 

I  raised  my  head  from  the  desk.  "  Oh,  you 
can  talk!  You  didn't  see  him.  What  do  you 
eare !  But  if  you  could  have  seen  him,  crouched 
there  —  alone  —  like  a  little  animal !  He  was 
so  sweet  —  and  lovable  —  and  —  and  —  he 
[179] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

hadn't  been  decently  washed  for  weeks  —  and 
his  arms  clung  to  me  —  I  can  feel  his  hands 
about  my  neck !  —  " 

I  buried  my  head  in  the  papers  again. 
Blackie  went  on  smoking.  There  was  no  sound 
in  the  little  room  except  the  purr-purring  of 
Blackie's  pipe.  Then: 

"  I  done  a  favor  for  Wheeling  once,"  mused 
he. 

I  glanced  up,  quickly.  "  Oh,  Blackie,  do 
you  think — " 

"  No,  I  don't.  But  then  again,  you  can't 
never  tell.  That  was  four  or  five  years  ago,  and 
the  mem'ry  of  past  favors  grows  dim  fast. 
Still,  if  you're  through  waterin'  the  top  of  my 
desk,  why  I'd  like  t'  set  down  and  do  a  little  real 
brisk  talkin'  over  the  phone.  You're  excused." 

Quite  humbly  I  crept  away,  with  hope  in  my 
heart. 

To  this  day  I  do  not  know  what  secret  string 
the  resourceful  Blackie  pulled.  But  the  next 
afternoon  I  found  a  hastily  scrawled  note  tucked 
into  the  roll  of  my  typewriter.  It  sent  me 
scuttling  across  the  hall  to  the  sporting  editor's 
smoke-filled  room.  And  there  on  a  chair  be 
side  the  desk,  surrounded  by  scrap-books,  lead 
pencils,  paste-pot  and  odds  and  ends  of  news 
paper  office  paraphernalia,  sat  Bennie.  His  hair 
[180] 


BENNIE  THE  CONSOLER 

was  parted  very  smoothly  on  one  side,  and  undefl 
his  dimpled  chin  bristled  a  very  new  and  ex 
tremely  lively  green-and-red  plaid  silk  tie. 

The  next  instant  I  had  swept  aside  papers, 
brushes,  pencils,  books,  and  Bennie  was  gath 
ered  close  in  my  arms.  Blackie,  with  a  strange 
glow  in  his  deep-set  black  eyes  regarded  us  with 
an  assumed  disgust 

"Wimmin  is  all  alike.  Ain't  it  th'  truth? 
I  used  t'  think  you  was  different.  But  shucks ! 
It  ain't  so.  Got  t'  turn  on  the  weeps  the  minute 
you're  tickled  or  mad.  Why  say,  I  ain't  goin'  t' 
have  you  comin'  in  here  an'  dampenin'  up  the 
whole  place  every  little  while !  It's  unhealthy 
for  me,  sittin'  here  in  the  wet." 

"  Oh,  shut  up,  Blackie,"  I  said,  happily. 
"  How  in  the  world  did  you  do  it?  " 

"  Never  you  mind.  The  question  is,  what 
you  goin'  t'  do  with  him,  now  you've  got  him? 
Goin'  t'  have  a  French  bunny  for  him,  or 
fetch  him  up  by  hand?  Wheeling  appointed 
a  probation  skirt  to  look  after  the  crowd  of  us, 
and  we  got  t'  toe  the  mark." 

"  Glory  be!  "  I  ejaculated.  "  I  don't  know 
what  I  shall  do  with  him.  I  shall  have  to  bring 
him  down  with  me  every  morning,  and  per 
haps  you  can  make  a  sporting  editor  out  of 
him." 

[1*1] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

"Nix.  Not  with  that  forehead.  He's  a 
high-brow.  We'll  make  him  dramatic  critic. 
In  the  meantime,  I'll  be  little  fairy  godmother, 
an*  if  you'll  get  on  your  bonnet  I'll  stake  you 
and  the  young  'un  to  strawberry  shortcake  an' 
chocolate  ice  cream." 

So  it  happened  that  a  wondering  Frau  Knapf 
and  a  sympathetic  Frau  Nirlanger  were  called  in 
for  consultation  an  hour  later.  Bennie  was  en 
sconced  in  my  room,  very  wide-eyed  and  won 
dering,  but  quite  content.  With  the  entrance  of 
Frau  Nirlanger  the  consultation  was  somewhat 
disturbed.  She  made  a  quick  rush  at  him  and 
gathered  him  in  her  hungry  arms. 

"  Du  baby  du !  "  she  cried.  "  Du  Kleiner !  " 
And  she  was  down  on  her  knees,  and  somehow 
her  figure  had  melted  into  delicious  mother- 
curves,  with  Bennie's  head  just  fitting  into  that 
most  gracious  one  between  her  shoulder  and 
breast.  She  cooed  to  him  in  a  babble  of  French 
and  German  and  English,  calling  him  her  lee-tel 
Oscar.  Bennie  seemed  miraculously  to  under 
stand.  Perhaps  he  was  becoming  accustomed 
to  having  strange  ladies  snatch  him  to  their 
breasts. 

"  So,"  said  Frau  Nirlanger,  looking  up  at 
us.  "  Is  he  not  sweet?  He  shall  be  my  lee-tel 
boy,  nicht?  For  one  small  year  he  shall  be  my 

' 


BENNIE  THE  CONSOLER 

own  boy.  Ach,  I  am  but  lonely  all  the  long 
day  here  in  this  strange  land.  You  will  let  me 
care  for  him,  nicht?  And  Konrad,  he  will  be 
very  angry,  but  that  shall  make  no  bit  of 
difference.  Eh,  Oscar?" 

And  so  the  thing  was  settled,  and  an  hour 
later  three  anxious-browed  women  were  debating 
the  weighty  question  of  eggs  or  bread-and-milk 
for  Bennie's  supper.  Frau  Nirlanger  was  for 
soft-boiled  eggs  as  being  none  too  heavy  after 
orphan  asylum  fare;  I  was  for  bread-and-milk, 
that  being  the  prescribed  supper  dish  for  all 
the  orphans  and  waifs  that  I  had  ever  read 
about,  from  "The  Wide,  Wide  World"  to 
"  Helen's  Babies,"  and  back  again.  Frau 
Knapf  was  for  both  eggs  and  bread-and-milk 
with  a  dash  of  meat  and  potatoes  thrown  in 
for  good  measure,  and  a  slice  or  so  of  Kuchen 
on  the  side.  We  compromised  on  one  egg,  one 
glass  of  milk,  and  a  slice  of  lavishly  buttered 
bread,  and  jelly.  It  was  a  clean,  sweet,  sleepy- 
eyed  Bennie  that  we  tucked  between  the  sheets. 
We  three  women  stood  looking  down  at  him 
as  he  lay  there  in  the  quaint  old  blue-painted 
bed  that  had  once  held  the  plump  little 
Knapfs. 

"  You  think  anyway  he  had  enough  supper?  '* 
mused  the  anxious-browed  Frau  Knapf. 


DAWN  O'HARA 

"  To  school  he  will  have  to  go,  yes?  "  mur 
mured  Frau  Nirlanger,  regretfully. 

I  tucked  in  the  covers  at  one  side  of  the  bed, 
not  that  they  needed  tucking,  but  because  it 
was  such  a  comfortable,  'satisfying  thing  to  do. 

"  Just  at  this  minute,"  I  said,  as  I  tucked, 
"  I'd  rather  be  a  newspaper  reporter  than  any 
thing  else  in  the  world.  As  a  profession  'tis  so 
broadennV,  an?  at  the  same  time,  so  chancey." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE    TEST 

OOME  day  the  marriageable  age  for  women 
^  will  be  advanced  from  twenty  to  thirty,  and 
the  old  maid  line  will  be  changed  from  thirty 
to  forty.  When  that  time  comes  there  will  be 
surprisingly  few  divorces.  The  husband  of 
whom  we  dream  at  twenty  is  not  at  all  the  type 
of  man  who  attracts  us  at  thirty.  The  man  I 
married  at  twenty  was  a  brilliant,  morbid,  hand 
some,  abnormal  creature  with  magnificent  eyes 
and  very  white  teeth  and  no  particular  appe 
tite  at  mealtime.  The  man  whom  I  could  care 
for  at  thirty  would  be  the  normal,  safe  and  sub 
stantial  sort  who  would  come  in  at  six  o'clock, 
kiss  me  once,  sniff  the  air  twice  and  say:  "  Mm ! 
What's  that  smells  so  good,  old  girl?  I'm  as 
hungry  as  a  bear.  Trot  it  out.  Where  are  the 
kids?" 

These  are  dangerous  things  to  think  upon. 
So  dangerous  and  disturbing  to  the  peace  of 
mind  that  I  have  decided  not  to  see  Ernst  von 
Gerhard  for  a  week  or  two.  I  find  that  seeing 


DAWN  O'HARA 

him  is  apt  to  make  me  forget  Peter  Orme;  to 
forget  that  my  duty  begins  with  a  capital  D; 
to  forget  that  I  am  dangerously  near  the  thirty 
year  old  mark;  to  forget  Norah,  and  Max,  and 
the  Spalpeens,  and  the  world,  and  everything 
but  the  happiness  of  being  near  him,  watch 
ing  his  eyes  say  one  thing  while  his  lips  say 
another. 

At  such  times  I  am  apt  to  work  myself  up 
into  rather  a  savage  frame  of  mind,  and  to  shut 
myself  in  my  room  evenings,  paying  no  heed 
to  Frau  Nirlanger's  timid  knocking,  or  Bennie's 
good-night  message.  I  uncover  my  typewriter 
and  set  to  work  at  the  thing  which  may  or  may 
not  be  a  book,  and  am  extremely  wretched  and 
gloomy  and  pessimistic,  after  this  fashion: 

"  He  probably  wouldn't  care  anything  about 
you  if  you  were  free.  It  is  just  a  case  of  the 
fruit  that  is  out  of  reach  being  the  most  desir 
able.  Men  don't  marry  frumpy,  snuffy  old 
things  of  thirty,  or  thereabouts.  Men  aren't 
marrying  now-a-days,  anyway.  Certainly  not 
for  love.  They  marry  for  position,  or  power, 
or  money,  when  they  do  marry.  Think  of  all  the 
glorious  creatures  he  meets  every  day  —  women 
whose  hair,  and  finger-nails  and  teeth  and  skin 
are  a  religion;  women  whose  clothes  are  a  fine 
art;  women  who  are  free  to  care  only  for  them- 
[186] 


THE  TEST 

selves;  to  rest,  to  enjoy,  to  hear  delightful 
music,  and  read  charming  books,  and  eat  dc« 
licious  food.  He  doesn't  really  care  about  you, 
with  your  rumpled  blouses,  and  your  shabby 
gloves  and  shoes,  and  your  somewhat  doubtful 
linen  collars.  The  last  time  you  saw  him  you 
were  just  coming  home  from  the  office  after  a 
dickens  of  a  day,  and  there  was  a  smudge  on 
the  end  of  your  nose,  and  he  told  you  of  it, 
laughing.  But  you  didn't  laugh.  You  rubbed 
it  off,  furiously,  and  you  wanted  to  cry.  Cry! 
You,  Dawn  O'Hara !  Begorra !  'Tis  losin' 
your  sense  av  humor  you're  after  doin' !  Get  to 
work." 

After  which  I  would  fall  upon  the  book  in 
a  furious,  futile  fashion,  writing  many  inco 
herent,  irrelevant  paragraphs  which  I  knew 
would  be  cast  aside  as  worthless  on  the  sane 
and  reasoning  to-morrow. 

Oh,  it  had  been  easy  enough  to  talk  of  love 
in  a  lofty,  superior  impersonal  way  that  New 
Year's  day.  Just  the  luxury  of  speaking  of  it 
at  all,  after  those  weeks  of  repression,  sufficed. 
But  it  is  not  so  easy  to  be  impersonal  and  lofty 
when  the  touch  of  a  coat  sleeve  against  your 
arm  sends  little  prickling,  tingling  shivers  rac 
ing  madly  through  thousands  of  too  taut  nerves. 
It  is  not  so  easy  to  force  the  mind  and  tongue 


DAWN  O'HARA 

into  safe,  sane-  channels  when  they  are  for« 
ever  threatening  to  rush  together  in  an  over 
whelming  torrent  that  will  carry  misery  and  de 
struction  in  its  wake.  Invariably  we  talk  with 
feverish  earnestness  about  the  book;  about  my 
work  at  the  office;  about  Ernst's  profession, 
with  its  wonderful  growth;  about  Norah,  and 
Max  and  the  Spalpeens,  and  the  home;  about 
the  latest  news;  about  the  weather;  about  Peter 
Orme  —  and  then  silence. 

At  our  last  meeting  things  took  a  new  and 
startling  turn.  So  startling,  so  full  of  tempta 
tion  and  happiness-that-must-not-be,  that  I  re 
solved  to  forbid  myself  the  pain  and  joy  of  being 
near  him  until  I  could  be  quite  sure  that  my  grip 
on  Dawn  O'Hara  was  firm,  unshakable  and 
lasting. 

Von  Gerhard  sports  a  motor-car,  a  rakish 
little  craft,  built  long  and  low,  with  racing  lines, 
and  a  green  complexion,  and  a  nose  that  cuts 
through  the  air  like  the  prow  of  a  swift  boat 
through  water.  Von  Gerhard  had  promised 
me  a  spin  in  it  on  the  first  mild  day.  Sunday 
turned  out  to  be  unexpectedly  lamblike,  as  only 
a  March  day  can  be,  with  real  sunshine  that 
warmed  the  end  of  one's  nose  instead  of  laugh 
ing  as  it  tweaked  it,  as  the  lying  February  sun 
shine  had  done. 

[188] 


THE  TEST 

/ 

"  But  warmly  you  must  dress  yourself,"  Von 
Gerhard  warned  me,  "  with  no  gauzy  blouses  or 
sleeveless  gowns.  The  air  cuts  like  a  knife,  but 
it  feels  good  against  the  face.  And  a  little 
road-house  I  know,  where  one  is  served  great 
steaming  plates  of  hot  oyster  stew.  How  will 
that  be  for  a  lark,  yes?" 

And  so  I  had  swathed  myself  in  wrappings 
until  I  could  scarcely  clamber  into  the  panting 
little  car,  and  we  had  darted  off  along  the  smooth 
lake  drives,  while  the  wind  whipped  the  scarlet 
into  our  cheeks,  even  while  it  brought  the  tears 
to  our  eyes.  There  was  no  chance  for  conver 
sation,  even  if  Von  Gerhard  had  been  in  talk 
ative  mood,  which  he  was  not.  He  seemed 
more  taciturn  than  usual,  seated  there  at  the 
wheel,  looking  straight  ahead  at  the  ribbon  of 
road,  his  eyes  narrowed  down  to  mere  keen  blue 
slits.  I  realized,  without  alarm,  that  he  was 
driving  furiously  and  lawlessly,  and  I  did  not 
care.  Von  Gerhard  was  that  sort  of  man. 
One  could  sit  quite  calmly  beside  him  while 
he  pulled  at  the  reins  of  a  pair  of  runaway, 
horses,  knowing  that  he  would  conquer  them  in 
the  end. 

Just  when  my  face  began  to  feel  as  stiff 
and  glazed  as  a  mummy's,  we  swung  off  the 
roadway  and  up  to  the  entrance  of  the  road- 


DAWN  O'HARA 

house  that  was  to  revive  us  with  things  hot  and 
soupy. 

"  Another  minute,"  I  said,  through  stiff  lips, 
as  I  extricated  myself  from  my  swathings,  u  and 
|I  should  have  been  what  Mr.  Mantalini  de 
scribed  as  a  demnition  body.  For  pity's  sake, 
tell  'em  the  soup  can't  be  too  hot  nor  too 
steaming  for  your  lady  friend.  I've  had  enough 
fresh  air  to  last  me  the  remainder  of  my  life. 
May  I  timidly  venture  to  suggest  that  a  cheese 
sandwich  follow  the  oyster  stew?  I  am  famished, 
and  this  place  looks  as  though  it  might  make 
a  speciality  of  cheese  sandwiches." 

"  By  all  means  a  cheese  sandwich.  Und  was 
noch?  That  fresh  air  it  has  given  you  an  ap 
petite,  nicht  wahr?  "  But  there  was  no  sign  of 
a  smile  on  his  face,  nor  was  the  kindly  twinkle 
of  amusement  to  be  seen  in  his  eyes  —  that 
twinkle  that  I  had  learned  to  look  for. 

"  Smile  for  the  lady,"  I  mockingly  begged 
when  we  had  been  served.  "  You've  been  owl 
ish  all  the  afternoon.  Here,  try  a  cheese  sand 
wich.  Now,  why  do  you  suppose  that  this  mus 
tard  tastes  so  much  better  than  the  kind  one 
gets  at  home?  " 

Von  Gerhard  had  been  smoking  a  cigarette, 
the  first  that  I  had  ever  seen  in  his  fingers.  Now 
he  tossed  it  into  the  fireplace  that  yawned  black 
[190] 


THE  TEST 

and  empty  at  one  side  of  the  room.  He  swept 
aside  the  plates  and  glasses  that  stood  before 
him,  leaned  his  arms  on  the  table  and  deliber 
ately  stared  at  me. 

"  I  sail  for  Europe  in  June,  to  be  gone  a 
year  —  probably  more,"  he  said. 

"Sail!"  I  echoed,  idiotically;  and  began 
blindly  to  dab  clots  of  mustard  on  that  ridicu 
lous  sandwich. 

"I  go  to  study  and  work  with  Gliick.  It  is 
the  opportunity  of  a  lifetime.  Gliick  is  to  the 
world  of  medicine  what  Edison  is  to  the  world 
of  electricity.  He  is  a  wizard,  a  man  inspired. 
You  should  see  him  —  a  little,  bent,  grizzled, 
shabby  old  man  who  looks  at  you,  and  sees  you 
not.  It  is  a  wonderful  opportunity,  a  — " 

The  mustard  and  the  sandwich  and  the  table 
and  Von  Gerhard's  face  were  very  indistinct 
and  uncertain  to  my  eyes,  but  I  managed  to 
say:  "  So  glad  —  congratulate  you  —  very 
happy  —  no  doubt  fortunate  — " 

Two  strong  hands  grasped  my  wrists. 
"  Drop  that  absurd  mustard  spoon  and  sand 
wich.  Na,  I  did  not  mean  to  frighten  you, 
Dawn.  How  your  hands  tremble.  So,  look  at 
me.  You  would  like  Vienna,  Kindchen.  You 
would  like  the  gayety,  and  the  brightness  of  it, 
and  the  music,  and  the  pretty  women,  and  the 


DAWN  O'HARA 

incomparable  gowns.  Your  sense  of  humor 
would  discern  the  hollowness  beneath  all  the 
pomp  and  ceremony  and  rigid  lines  of  caste,  and 
military  glory;  and  your  writer's  instinct  would 
revel  in  the  splendor,  and  color  and  romance 
and  intrigue." 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders  in  assumed  indif 
ference.  "  Can't  you  convey  all  this  to  me  with 
out  grasping  my  wrists  like  a  villain  in  a  melo 
drama?  Besides,  it  isn't  very  generous  or 
thoughtful  of  you  to  tell  me  all  this,  knowing 
that  it  is  not  for  me.  Vienna  for  you,  and 
Milwaukee  and  cheese  sandwiches  for  me. 
Please  pass  the  mustard." 

But  the  hold  on  my  wrists  grew  firmer.  Von 
Gerhard's  eyes  were  steady  as  they  gazed  into 
mine.  "  Dawn,  Vienna,  and  the  whole  world  is 
waiting  for  you,  if  you  will  but  take  it.  Vienna 
—  and  happiness  —  with  me  — " 

I  wrenched  my  wrists  free  with  a  dreadful 
effort  and  rose,  sick,  bewildered,  stunned.  My 
world  —  my  refuge  of  truth,  and  honor,  and 
safety  and  sanity  that  had  lain  in  Ernst  von. 
Gerhard's  great,  steady  hands,  was  slipping 
away  from  me.  I  think  the  horror  that  I 
felt  within  must  have  leaped  to  my  eyes,  for  in 
an  instant  Von  Gerhard  was  beside  me,  steady 
ing  me  with  his  clear  blue  eyes.  He  did  not 
[192] 


THE  TEST 

touch  the  tips  of  my  fingers  as  he  stood  there 
very  near  me.  From  the  look  of  pain  on  his 
face  I  knew  that  I  had  misunderstood,  some 
how. 

"  Kleine,  I  see  that  you  know  me  not,"  he 
said,  in  German,  and  the  saying  it  was  as  tender 
as  is  a  mother  when  she  reproves  a  child  that 
she  loves.  "  This  fight  against  the  world,  those 
years  of  unhappiness  and  misery,  they  have 
made  you  suspicious  and  lacking  in  trust,  is  it 
not  so?  You  do  not  yet  know  the  perfect  love 
that  casts  out  all  doubt.  Dawn,  I  ask  you  in 
the  name  of  all  that  is  reasoning,  and  for  the 
sake  of  your  happiness  and  mine,  to  divorce  this 
man  Peter  Orme  —  this  man  who  for  almost 
ten  years  has  not  been  your  husband  —  who 
never  can  be  your  husband.  I  ask  you  to  do 
something  which  will  bring  suffering  to  no  one, 
and  which  will  mean  happiness  to  many.  Let 
me  make  you  happy  —  you  were  born  to  be 
happy  —  you  who  can  laugh  like  a  girl  in  spite 
of  your  woman's  sorrows  — " 

But  I  sank  into  a  chair  and  hid  my  face  in 
my  hands  so  that  I  might  be  spared  the  beauty 
and  the  tenderness  of  his  eyes.  I  tried  to  think 
of  all  the  sane  and  commonplace  things  in  life. 
Somewhere  in  my  inner  consciousness  a  cool  lit 
tle  voice  was  saying,  over  and  over  again: 
[193] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

"  Now,  Dawn,  careful !  You've  come  to  the 
crossroads  at  last.  Right  or  left?  Choose  I 
Now,  Dawn,  careful!"  and  the  rest  of  it  all 
over  again. 

When  I  IHted  my  face  from  my  hands  at  last 
it  was  to  meet  the  tenderness  of  Von  Gerhard's 
gaze  with  scarcely  a  tremor. 

"  You  ought  to  know,"  I  said,  very  slowly 
and  evenly,  "  that  a  divorce,  under  these  cir 
cumstances,  is  almost  impossible,  even  if  I 
wished  to  do  what  you  suggest.  There  are  cer 
tain  state  laws  — " 

An  exclamation  of  impatience  broke  from 
him.  "  Laws !  In  some  states,  yes.  In  oth 
ers,  no.  It  is  a  mere  technicality  —  a  trifle ! 
There  Is  about  it  a  bit  of  that  which  you  call 
red  tape.  It  amounts  to  nothing  —  to  that  I  " 
He  snapped  his  fingers.  "  A  few  months'  resi 
dence  in  another  state,  perhaps.  These  Amer 
ican  laws,  they  are  made  to  break." 

"  Yes;  you  are  quite  right,"  I  said,  and  I 
knew  in  my  heart  that  the  cool,  insistent  little 
voice  within  had  not  spoken  in  vain.  "  But 
there  are  other  laws  —  laws  of  honor  and  de 
cency,  and  right  living  and  conscience  —  that 
cannot  be  broken  with  such  ease.  I  cannot 
marry  you.  I  have  a  husband." 

"  You  can  call  that  unfortunate  wretch  your 
[194] 


THE  TEST 

husband!  He  does  not  know  that  he  has  a 
wife.  He  will  not  know  that  he  has  lost  a  wife. 
Come,  Dawn  —  small  one  —  be  not  so  foolish. 
You  do  not  know  how  happy  I  will  make  yoUc 
You  have  never  seen  me  except  when  I  was  tor 
tured  with  doubts  and  fears.  You  do  not  know 
what  our  life  will  be  together.  There  shall  be 
everything  to  make  you  forget  —  everything 
that  thought  and  love  and  money  can  give  you. 
The  man  there  in  the  barred  room  — " 

At  that  I  took  his  dear  hands  in  mine  and 
held  them  close  as  I  miserably  tried  to  make 
him  hear  what  that  small,  still  voice  had  told 
me. 

"There!  That  is  it!  If  he  were  free,  if 
he  were  able  to  stand  before  men  that  his  ac 
tions  might  be  judged  fairly  and  justly,  I  should 
not  hesitate  for  one  single,  precious  moment. 
If  he  could  fight  for  his  rights,  or  relinquish 
them,  as  he  saw  fit,  then  this  thing  would  not 
be  so  monstrous.  But,  Ernst,  can't  you  see? 
He  is  there,  alone,  in  that  dreadful  place,  quite 
helpless,  quite  incapable,  quite  at  our  mercy. 
I  should  as  soon  think  of  hurting  a  little  child, 
or  snatching  the  pennies  from  a  blind  man's  cup. 
The  thing  is  inhuman!  It  is  monstrous!  No 
state  laws,  no  red  tape  can  dissolve  such  a 


union." 


[195] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

"  You  still  care  for  him !  " 

"Ernst!" 

His  face  was  very  white  with  the  pallor  of 
repressed  emotion,  and  his  eyes  were  like  the 
blue  flame  that  one  sees  flashing  above  a  bed  of 
white-hot  coals. 

'  You  do  care  for  him  still.  But  yes !  You 
can  stand  there,  quite  cool  —  but  quite  —  and 
tell  me  that  you  would  not  hurt  him,  not  for 
your  happiness,  not  for  mine.  But  me  you  can 
hurt  again  and  again,  without  one  twinge  of  re- 
gret." 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment  in  the  little 
bare  dining-room  —  a  miserable  silence  on  my 
part,  a  bitter  one  for  Ernst.  Then  Von  Ger 
hard  seated  himself  again  at  the  table  opposite 
and  smiled  one  of  the  rare  smiles  that  illumined 
his  face  with  such  sweetness. 

"  Come,  Dawn,  almost  we  are  quarreling  — 
we  who  were  to  have  been  so  matter-of-fact  and 
sensible.  Let  us  make  an  end  of  this  question. 
You  will  think  of  what  I  have  said,  will  you 
not?  Perhaps  I  was  too  abrupt,  too  brutal. 
Ach,  Dawn,  you  know  not  how  I  —  Very 
well,  I  will  not." 

With  both  hands  I  was  clinging  to  my  cour 
age  and  praying  for  strength  to  endure  this  un 
til  I  should  be  alone  in  my  room  again. 


THE  TEST 

"  As  for  that  poor  creature  who  is  bereft  of 
reason,  he  shall  lack  no  care,  no  attention.  The 
burden  you  have  borne  so  long  I  shall  take  now 
upon  my  shoulders.'* 

He  seemed  so  confident,  so  sure.  I  could 
bear  it  no  longer.  "  Ernst,  if  you  have  any 
pity,  any  love  for  me,  stop!  I  tell  you  I  can 
never  do  this.  Why  do  you  make  it  so  terribly 
hard  for  me !  So  pitilessly  hard !  You  always 
have  been  so  strong,  so  sure,  such  a  staff  of 
courage." 

"  I  say  again,  and  again,  and  again,  you  do 
not  care." 

It  was  then  that  I  took  my  last  vestige  of 
strength  and  courage  together  and  going  over 
to  him,  put  my  two  hands  on  his  great  shoul 
ders,  looking  up  into  his  drawn  face  as  I  spoke. 

"  Ernst,  look  at  me !  You  never  can  know 
how  much  I  care.  I  care  so  much  that  I  could 
not  bear  to  have  the  shadow  of  wrong  fall  upon 
our  happiness.  There  can  be  no  lasting  happi 
ness  upon  a  foundation  of  shameful  deceit.  I 
should  hate  myself,  and  you  would  grow  to 
hate  me.  It  always  is  so.  Dear  one,  I  care  so 
much  that  I  have  the  strength  to  do  as  I  would 
do  if  I  had  to  face  my  mother,  and  Norah  to 
night.  I  don't  ask  you  to  understand.  Men 
are  not  made  to  understand  these  things;  not 

[197] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

even  a  man  such  as  you,  who  are  so  beautifully 
understanding.  I  only  ask  that  you  believe  in 
me  —  and  think  of  me  sometimes  —  I  shall  feel 
it,  and  be  helped.  Will  you  take  me  home  now, 
Dr.  von  Gerhard?  " 

The  ride  home  was  made  in  silence.  The 
wind  was  colder,  sharper.  I  was  chilled,  mis 
erable,  sick.  Von  Gerhard's  face  was  quite  ex 
pressionless  as  he  guided  the  little  car  over  the 
smooth  road.  When  we  had  stopped  before 
my  door,  still  without  a  word,  I  thought  that 
he  was  going  to  leave  me  with  that  barrier  of 
silence  unbroken.  But  as  I  stepped  stiffly  to  the 
curbing  his  hands  closed  about  mine  with  the 
old  steady  grip.  I  looked  up  quickly,  to  find  a 
smile  in  the  corners  of  the  tired  eyes. 

"  You  —  you  will  let  me  see  you  —  some 
times  ?" 

But  wisdom  came  to  my  aid.  "  Not  now. 
It  is  better  that  we  go  our  separate  ways  for  a 
few  weeks,  until  our  work  has  served  to  adjust 
the  balance  that  has  been  disturbed.  At  the 
end  of  that  time  I  shall  write  you,  and  from 
that  time  until  you  sail  in  June  we  shall  be  just1 
good  comrades  again.  And  once  in  Vienna  — 
who  knows  ?  —  you  may  meet  the  plump  blond 
Fraulein,  of  excellent  family  — " 

"  And  no  particular  imagination  — " 
[198] 


THE  TEST 

And  then  we  both  laughed,  a  bit  hysterically, 
because  laughter  is,  after  all,  akin  to  tears.  And 
the  little  green  car  shot  off  with  a  whir  as  I 
turned  to  enter  my  new  world  of  Ioneliness0 


CHAPTER  XIV 

BENNIE   AND   THE    CHARMING   OLD  MAID 


followed  a  blessed  week  of  work 
a  "  human  warious  "  week,  with  some 
thing  piquant  lurking  at  every  turn.  A  week 
so  busy,  so  kaleidoscopic  in  its  quick  succession 
of  events  that  my  own  troubles  and  grievances 
were  pushed  into  a  neglected  corner  of  my  mind 
and  made  to  languish  there,  unfed  by  tears  or 
sighs. 

News  comes  in  cycles.  There  are  weeks 
when  a  city  editor  tears  his  hair  in  vain  as  he 
bellows  for  a  first-page  story.  There  follow 
days  so  bristling  with  real,  live  copy  that  per 
fectly  good  stuff  which,  in  the  ordinary  course 
of  events  might  be  used  to  grace  the  front  sheet, 
is  sandwiched  away  between  the  marine  intelli 
gence  and  the  Elgin  butter  reports. 

Such  a  week  was  this.  I  interviewed  every 
thing  from  a  red-handed  murderer  to  an  incu 
bator  baby.  The  town  seemed  to  be  running 
over  with  celebrities,  Norberg,  the  city  editor, 
adores  celebrities.  He  never  allows  one  to 

[200] 


BENNIE  AND  THE  OLD  MAID 

escape  uninterviewed.  On  Friday  there  fell  to 
my  lot  a  world-famous  prima  donna,  an  in 
famous  prize-fighter,  and  a  charming  old  maid. 
Norberg  cared  not  whether  the  celebrity  in  ques 
tion  was  noted  for  a  magnificent  high  C,  or  a 
left  half-scissors  hook,  so  long  as  the  interview 
was  dished  up  hot  and  juicy,  with  plenty  of 
quotation  marks,  a  liberal  sprinkling  of  adjec 
tives  and  adverbs,  and  a  cut  of  the  victim 
gracing  the  top  of  the  column. 

It  was  long  past  the  lunch  hour  when  the 
prima  donna  and  the  prize-fighter',  properly  em 
bellished,  were  snapped  on  the  copy  hook. 
The  prima  donna  had  chattered  in  French;  the 
prize-fighter  had  jabbered  in  slang;  but  the 
charming  old  maid,  who  spoke  Milwaukee  Eng 
lish,  was  to  make  better  copy  than  a  whole 
chorus  of  prima  donnas,  or  a  ring  full  of  fight 
ers.  Copy!  It  was  such  wonderful  stuff  that 
I  couldn't  use  it. 

It  was  with  the  charming  old  maid  in  mind 
that  Norberg  summoned  me. 

"  Another  special  story  for  you,"  he  cheer 
fully  announced. 

No  answering  cheer  appeared  upon  my  lunch- 
less  features.  "  A  prize-fighter  at  ten-thirty, 
and  a  prima  donna  at  twelve.  What's  the  next 
choice  morsel?  An  aeronaut  with  another  sue- 


DAWN  O'HARA 

cessful  airship  ?  or  a  cash  girl  who  has  inherited 
a  million?  " 

Norberg's  plump  cheeks  dimpled.  "  Nei 
ther.  This  time  it  is  a  nice  German  old 
maid." 

"  Eloped  with  the  coachman,  no  doubt?  " 

"  I  said  a  nice  old  maid.  And  she  hasn't 
done  anything  yet.  You  are  to  find  out  how 
she'll  feel  when  she  does  it.'* 

"  Charmingly  lucid,"  commented  I,  made 
savage  by  the  pangs  of  hunger. 

Norberg  proceeded  to  outline  the  story  with 
characteristic  vigor,  a  cigarette  waggling  from 
the  corner  of  his  mouth. 

"  Name  and  address  on  this  slip.  Take  a 
Greenfield  car.  Nice  old  maid  has  lived  in  nice 
old  cottage  all  her  life.  Grandfather  built  it 
himself  about  a  hundred  years  ago.  Whole 
family  was  born  in  it,  and  married  in  it,  and 
died  in  it,  see?  It's  crammed  full  of  spinning- 
wheels  and  mahogany  and  stuff  that'll  make 
your  eyes  stick  out.  See?  Well,  there's  no 
one  left  now  but  the  nice  old  maid,  all  alone* 
She  had  a  sister  who  ran  away  with  a  scamp 
some  years  ago.  Nice  old  maid  has  never 
heard  of  her  since,  but  she  leaves  the  gate  ajar 
or  the  latch-string  open,  or  a  lamp  in  the  win 
dow,  or  something,  so  that  if  ever  she  wanders 
[202] 


BENNIE  AND  THE  OLD  MAID 

back  to  the  old  home  she'll  know  she's  welcome* 
see?" 

"  Sounds  like  a  moving  picture  play,"  I  re 
marked. 

"  Wait  a  minute.  Here's  the  point.  The 
city  wants  to  build  a  branch  library  or  some 
thing  on  her  property,  and  the  nice  old  party 
is  so  pinched  for  money  that  she'll  have  to  take 
their  offer.  So  the  time  has  come  when  she'll 
have  to  leave  that  old  cottage,  with  its  romance, 
and  its  memories,  and  its  lamp  in  the  window, 
and  go  to  live  in  a  cheap  little  flat,  see  ?  Where 
the  old  four-poster  will  choke  up  the  bed 
room  — " 

"  And  the  parlor  will  be  done  in  red  and 
green,"  I  put  in,  eagerly,  "  and  where  there  will 
be  an  ingrowing  sideboard  in  the  dining-room 
that  won't  fit  in  with  the  quaint  old  dinner-set 
at  all,  and  a  kitchenette  just  off  that,  in  which 
the  great  iron  pots  and  kettles  that  used  to  hold 
the  family  dinners  will  be  monstrously  out  of 
place  — " 

"  You're  on,"  said  Norberg. 

Half  an  hour  later  I  stood  before  the  cottage, 
set  primly  in  the  center  of  a  great  lot  that  ex 
tended  for  half  a  square  on  all  sides.  A  winter- 
sodden,  bare  enough  sight  it  was  in  the  gray 
of  that  March  day.  But  it  was  not  long  be- 
[203] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

fore  Alma  Pflugel,  standing  in  the  midst  of  it, 
the  March  winds  flapping  her  neat  skirts  about 
her  ankles,  filled  it  with  a  blaze  of  color.  As 
she  talked,  a  row  of  stately  hollyhocks,  pink, 
and  scarlet,  and  saffron,  reared  their  heads 
against  the  cottage  sides.  The  chill  March  air 
became  sweet  with  the  scent  of  heliotrope,  and 
Sweet  William,  and  pansies,  and  bridal  wreath. 
The  naked  twigs  of  the  rose  bushes  flowered 
into  wondrous  bloom  so  that  they  bent  to  the 
ground  with  their  weight  of  crimson  and  yellow 
glory.  The  bare  brick  paths  were  overrun  with 
the  green  of  growing  things.  Gray  mounds  of 
dirt  grew  vivid  with  the  fire  of  poppies.  Even 
the  rain-soaked  wood  of  the  pea-frames  miracu 
lously  was  hidden  in  a  hedge  of  green,  over 
which  ran  riot  the  butterfly  beauty  of  the  laven 
der,  and  pink,  and  cerise  blossoms.  Oh,  she 
did  marvelous  things  that  dull  March  day, 
did  plain  German  Alma  Pflugel !  And  still 
more  marvelous  were  the  things  that  were  to 
come. 

But  of  these  things  we  knew  nothing  as  the 
door  was  opened  and  Alma  Pflugel  and  I  gazed 
curiously  at  one  another.  Surprise  was  writ 
large  on  her  honest  face  as  I  disclosed  my  er 
rand.  It  was  plain  that  the  ways  of  newspaper 
reporters  were  foreign  to  the  life  of  this  plain 
[204] 


BENNIE  AND  THE  OLD  MAID 

German  woman,  but  she  bade  me  enter  with  a 
sweet  graciousness  of  manner. 

Wondering,  but  silent,  she  led  the  way  down 
the  dim  narrow  hallway  to  the  sitting-room  be 
yond.  And  there  I  saw  that  Norberg  had 
known  whereof  he  spoke. 

A  stout,  red-faced  stove  glowed  cheerfully  in 
one  corner  of  the  room.  Back  of  the  stove  a 
sleepy  cat  opened  one  indolent  eye,  yawned 
shamelessly,  and  rose  to  investigate,  as  is  the 
way  of  cats.  The  windows  were  aglow  with 
the  sturdy  potted  plants  that  flower-loving  Ger 
man  women  coax  into  bloom.  The  low-ceil- 
inged  room  twinkled  and  shone  as  the  polished 
surfaces  of  tables  and  chairs  reflected  the  rosy 
glow  from  the  plethoric  stove.  I  sank  into  the 
depths  of  a  huge  rocker  that  must  have  been 
built  for  Grosspapa  Pflugel's  generous  curves. 
Alma  Pflugel,  in  a  chair  opposite,  politely 
waited  for  this  new  process  of  interviewing  to 
begin,  but  relaxed  in  the  embrace  of  that  great 
armchair  I  suddenly  realized  that  I  was  very 
tired  and  hungry,  and  talk-weary,  and  that  here 
was  a  great  peace.  The  prima  donna,  with  her 
French,  and  her  paint,  and  her  pearls,  and  the 
prize-fighter  with  his  slang,  and  his  cauliflower 
ear,  and  his  diamonds,  seemed  creatures  of 
another  planet.  My  eyes  closed.  A  delicious 
[205] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

sensation  of  warmth  and  drowsy  contentment 
stole  over  me. 

"  Do  listen  to  the  purring  of  that  cat !  "  I 
murmured.  "  Oh,  newspapers  have  no  place  in 
this.  This  is  peace  and  rest." 

Alma  Pflugel  leaned  forward  in  her  chair. 
"You  —  you  like  it?  " 

"  Like  it !  This  is  home.  I  feel  as  though 
my  mother  were  here  in  this  room,  seated  in 
one  of  those  deep  chairs,  with  a  bit  of  sewing 
in  her  hand;  so  near  that  I  could  touch  her 
cheek  with  my  fingers." 

Alma  Pflugel  rose  from  her  chair  and  came 
over  to  me.  She  timidly  placed  her  hand  on 
my  arm.  "  Ah,  I  am  so  glad  you  are  like  that. 
You  do  not  laugh  at  the  low  ceilings,  and  the 
sunken  floors,  and  the  old-fashioned  rooms. 
You  do  not  raise  your  eyes  in  horror  and  say: 
*  No  conveniences !  And  why  don't  you  try 
striped  wall  paper?  It  would  make  those 
dreadful  ceilings  seem  higher/  How  nice  you 
are  to  understand  like  that !  " 

My  hand  crept  over  to  cover  her  own  that 
lay  on  my  arm.  "  Indeed,  indeed  I  do  under 
stand,"  I  whispered.  Which,  as  the  veriest  cub 
reporter  can  testify,  is  no  way  to  begin  an  inter 
view. 

A  hundred  happy  memories  filled  the  little 

[206] 


BENNIE  AND  THE  OLD  MAID 

low  room  as  Alma  Pflugel  showed  me  her 
treasures.  The  cat  purred  in  great  content,  and 
the  stove  cast  a  rosy  glow  over  the  scene  as  the 
simple  woman  told  the  story  of  each  precious 
relic,  from  the  battered  candle-dipper  on  the 
shelf,  to  the  great  mahogany  folding  table,  and 
sewing  stand,  and  carved  bed.  Then  there  was 
the  old  horn  lantern  that  Jacob  Pflugel  had 
used  a  century  before,  and  in  one  corner  of  the 
sitting-room  stood  Grossmutter  Pflugel's  spin 
ning-wheel.  Behind  cupboard  doors  were 
ranged  the  carefully  preserved  blue-and-white 
china  dishes,  and  on  the  shelf  below  stood  the 
clumsy  earthen  set  that  Grosspapa  Pflugel  him 
self  had  modeled  for  his  young  bride  in  those 
days  of  long  ago.  In  the  linen  chest  there  still 
lay,  in  neat,  fragrant  folds,  piles  of  the  linen 
that  had  been  spun  on  that  time-yellowed  spin 
ning-wheel.  And  because  of  the  tragedy  in  the 
honest  face  bent  over  these  dear  treasures,  and 
because  she  tried  so  bravely  to  hide  her  tears, 
I  knew  in  my  heart  that  this  could  never  be  a 
newspaper  story. 

"  So,"  said  Alma  Pflugel  at  last,  and  rose 
and  walked  slowly  to  the  window  and  stood 
looking  out  at  the  wind-swept  garden.  That 
window,  with  its  many  tiny  panes,  once  had 
looked  out  across  a  wilderness,  with  an  Indian 
[207] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

camp  not  far  away.  Grossmutter  Pflugel  had 
sat  at  that  window  many  a  bitter  winter  night, 
with  her  baby  in  her  arms,  watching  and  wait 
ing  for  the  young  husband  who  was  urging  his 
ox-team  across  the  ice  of  Lake  Michigan  in  tho 
teeth  of  a  raging  blizzard. 

The  little,  low-ceilinged  room  was  very  still. 
I  looked  at  Alma  Pflugel  standing  there  at  the 
window  in  her  neat  blue  gown,  and  something 
about  the  face  and  figure  —  or  was  it  the  pose 
of  the  sorrowful  head?  —  seemed  strangely  fa 
miliar.  Somewhere  in  my  mind  the  resem 
blance  haunted  me.  Resemblance  to  —  what? 
Whom? 

"  Would  you  like  to  see  my  garden?  "  asked 
Alma  Pflugel,  turning  from  the  window.  For 
a  moment  I  stared  in  wonderment.  But  the 
honest,  kindly  face  was  unsmiling.  "  These 
things  that  I  have  shown  you,  I  can  take  with 
me  when  I  —  go.  But  there,"  and  she  pointed 
cut  over  the  bare,  wind-swept  lot,  "  there  is 
something  that  I  cannot  take.  My  flowers ! 
You  see  that  mound  over  there,  covered  so 
snug  and  warm  with  burlap  and  sacking? 
There  my  tulips  and  hyacinths  sleep.  In  a  few 
weeks,  when  the  covering  is  whisked  off  —  ah, 
you  shall  see !  Then  one  can  be  quite  sure  that 
the  spring  is  here.  Who  can  look  at  a  great 

[208] 


BENNIE  AND  THE  OLD  MAID 

bed  of  red  and  pink  and  lavender  and  yellow 
tulips  and  hyacinths,  and  doubt  it?  Come." 

With  a  quick  gesture  she  threw  a  shawl  over 
[her  head,  and  beckoned  me.  Together  we 
^stepped  out  into  the  chill  of  the  raw  March 
afternoon.  She  stood  a  moment,  silent,  gaz 
ing  over  the  sodden  earth.  Then  she  flitted 
swiftly  down  the  narrow  path,  and  halted  be 
fore  a  queer  little  structure  of  brick,  covered 
with  the  skeleton  of  a  creeping  vine.  Stoop 
ing,  Alma  Pflugel  pulled  open  the  rusty  iron 
door  and  smiled  up  at  me. 

"  This  was  my  grandmother's  oven.  All 
her  bread  she  baked  in  this  little  brick  stove. 
Black  bread  it  was,  with  a  great  thick  crust,  and 
a  bitter  taste.  But  it  was  sweet,  too.  I  have 
never  tasted  any  so  good.  I  like  to  think  of 
Grossmutter,  when  she  was  a  bride,  baking  her 
first  batch  of  bread  in  this  oven  that  Grossvater 
built  for  her.  And  because  the  old  oven  was 
so  very  difficult  to  manage,  and  because  she 
was  such  a  young  thing  —  only  sixteen !  —  I 
like  to  think  that  her  first  loaves  were  perhaps 
not  so  successful,  and  that  Grosspapa.  joked 
about  them,  and  that  the  little  bride  wept,  so 
that  the  young  husband  had  to  kiss  away  the 
tears." 

She  shut  the  rusty,  sagging  door  very  slowly 
[209] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

and  gently.  "  No  doubt  the  workmen  who  will 
come  to  prepare  the  ground  for  the  new  library 
will  laugh  and  joke  among  themselves  when 
they  see  the  oven,  and  they  will  kick  it  with 
their  heels,  and  wonder  what  the  old  brick 
mound  could  have  been." 

There  was  a  little  twisted  smile  on  her  face 
as  she  rose  —  a  smile  that  brought  a  hot  mist 
of  tears  to  my  eyes.  There  was  tragedy  itself 
in  that  spare,  homely  figure  standing  there  in 
the  garden,  the  wind  twining  her  skirts  about 
her. 

4  You  should  but  see  the  children  peering 
over  the  fence  to  see  my  flowers  in  the  sum 
mer,"  she  said.  The  blue  eyes  wore  a  wistful, 
far-away  look.  "  All  the  children  know  my 
garden.  It  blooms  from  April  to  October. 
There  I  have  my  sweet  peas;  and  here  my 
roses  —  thousands  of  them  !  Some  are  as  red 
as  a  drop  of  blood,  and  some  as  white  as  a 
bridal  wreath.  When  they  are  blossoming  it 
makes  the  heart  ache,  it  is  so  beautiful." 

She  had  quite  forgotten  me  now.  For  her 
the  garden  was  all  abloom  once  more.  It  was 
as  though  the  Spirit  of  the  Flowers  had  touched 
the  naked  twigs  with  fairy  fingers,  waking  them 
into  glowing  life  for  her  who  never  again  was 
to  shower  her  love  and  care  upon  them. 
[210] 


BENNIE  AND  THE  OLD  MAID 

"  These  are  my  poppies.  Did  you  ever  come 
out  in  the  morning  to  find  a  hundred  poppy 
faces  smiling  at  you,  and  swaying  and  glisten 
ing  and  rippling  in  the  breeze?  There  they 
are,  scarlet  and  pink,  side  by  side  as  only  God 
can  place  them.  And  near  the  poppies  I  planted 
my  pansies,  because  each  is  a  lesson  to  the  other. 
I  call  my  pansies  little  children  with  happy 
faces.  See  how  this  great  purple  one  winks  his 
yellow  eye,  and  laughs !  " 

Her  gray  shawl  had  slipped  back  from  her 
face  and  lay  about  her  shoulders,  and  the  wind 
had  tossed  her  hair  into  a  soft  fluff  about  her 
head. 

"  We  used  to  come  out  here  in  the  early 
morning,  my  little  Schwester  and  I,  to  see  which 
rose  had  unfolded  its  petals  overnight,  or 
whether  this  great  peony  that  had  held  its  white 
head  so  high  only  yesterday,  was  humbled  to 
the  ground  in  a  heap  of  ragged  leaves.  Oh, 
in  the  morning  she  loved  it  best.  And  so  every 
summer  I  have  made  the  garden  bloom  again, 
so  that  when  she  comes  back  she  will  sec 
flowers  greet  her. 

"  All  the  way  up  the  path  to  the  door  she 
will  walk  in  an  aisle  of  fragrance,  and  when 
she  turns  the  handle  of  the  old  door  she  will 
find  it  unlocked,  summer  and  winter,  day  and 


DAWN  O'HARA 

night,  so  that  she  has  only  to  turn  the  knob  and 


enter.'' 


She  stopped,  abruptly.  The  light  died  out 
of  her  face.  She  glanced  at  me,  half  defiantly, 
half  timidly,  as  one  who  is  not  quite  sure  of 
what  she  has  said.  At  that  I  went  over  to 
her,  and  took  her  work-worn  hands  in  mine, 
and  smiled  down  into  the  faded  blue  eyes  grown 
dim  with  tears  and  watching. 

"Perhaps  —  who  knows?  —  the  little  sister 
may  come  yet.  I  feel  it.  She  will  walk  up 
the  little  path,  and  try  the  handle  of  the  door, 
and  it  will  turn  beneath  her  fingers,  and  she  will 


enter." 


With  my  arm  about  her  we  walked  down  the 
path  toward  the  old-fashioned  arbor,  bare  now 
except  for  the  tendrils  that  twined  about  the 
lattice.  The  arbor  was  fitted  with  a  wooden 
floor,  and  there  were  rustic  chairs,  and  a  table. 
I  could  picture  the  sisters  sitting  there  with  their 
sewing  during  the  long,  peaceful  summer  after 
noons.  Alma  Pflugel  would  be  wearing  one 
of  her  neat  gingham  gowns,  very  starched  and 
stiff,  with  perhaps  a  snowy  apron  edged  with  a 
border  of  heavy  crochet  done  by  the  wrinkled 
fingers  of  Grossmutter  Pflugel.  On  the  rustic 
table  there  would  be  a  bowl  of  flowers,  and  a 
pot  of  delicious  Kaffee,  and  a  plate  of  German 

[212] 


BENNIE  AND  THE  OLD  MAID 

Kaffeekuchen,  and  through  the  leafy  doorway 
the  scent  of  the  wonderful  garden  would  come 
stealing. 

I  thought  of  the  cheap  little  flat,  with  the 
ugly  sideboard,  and  the  bit  of  weedy  yard  in 
the  rear,  and  the  alley  beyond  that,  and  the  red 
and  green  wall  paper  in  the  parlor.  The  next 
moment,  to  my  horror,  Alma  Pflugel  had 
dropped  to  her  knees  before  the  table  in  the 
damp  little  arbor,  her  face  in  her  hands,  her 
spare  shoulders  shaking. 

"  Ich  kann's  nicht  thun ! "  she  moaned. 
"  Ich  kann  nicht !  Ach,  kleine  Schwester,  wo 
bist  du  denn!  Nachts  und  Morgens  bete  ich, 
aber  doch  kommst  du  nicht." 

A  great  dry  sob  shook  her.  Her  hand  went 
to  her  breast,  to  her  throat,  to  her  lips,  with  an 
odd,  stifled  gesture. 

"  Do  that  again!  "  I  cried,  and  shook  Alma 
Pflugel  sharply  by  the  shoulder.  "  Do  that 
again!" 

Her  startled  blue  eyes  looked  into  mine. 
*  What  do  you  mean?  "  she  asked. 

"  That  —  that  gesture.  I've  seen  it  — 
somewhere  —  that  trick  of  pressing  the  hand 
to  the  breast,  to  the  throat,  to  the  lips  — 
Oh !  " 

Suddenly    I    knew.     I    lifted    the    drooping 


DAWN  O'HARA 

head  and  rumpled  its  neat  braids,  and  laughed 
down  into  the  startled  face. 

"  She's  here !  "  I  shouted,  and  started  a  dance 
of  triumph  on  the  shaky  floor  of  the  old  arbor. 
"  I  know  her.  From  the  moment  I  saw  you 
the  resemblance  haunted  me."  And  then  as 
Alma  Pflugel  continued  to  stare,  while  the 
stunned  bewilderment  grew  in  her  eyes, 
'*  Why,  I  have  one-fourth  interest  in  your  own 
nephew  this  very  minute.  And  his  name  is 
Bennie !  " 

Whereupon  Alma  Pflugel  fainted  quietly 
away  in  the  chilly  little  grape  arbor,  with  her 
head  on  my  shoulder. 

I  called  myself  savage  names  as  I  chafed  her 
hands  and  did  all  the  foolish,  futile  things  that 
distracted  humans  think  of  at  such  times,  won 
dering,  meanwhile,  if  I  had  been  quite  mad  to 
discern  a  resemblance  between  this  simple,  clear- 
eyed  gentle  German  woman,  and  the  battered, 
ragged,  swaying  figure  that  had  stood  at  the 
judge's  bench. 

Suddenly  Alma  Pflugel  opened  her  eyes. 
Recognition  dawned  in  them  slowly.  Then, 
with  a  jerk,  she  sat  upright,  her  trembling 
hands  clinging  to  me. 

"Where  is  she?  Take  me  to  her.  Ach, 
you  are  sure  —  sure?  " 


BENNIE  AND  THE  OLD  MAID 

"  Lordy,  I  hope  so !  Come,  you  must  let  me 
help  you  into  the  house.  And  where  is  the 
nearest  telephone?  Never  mind;  I'll  find  one." 

When  I  had  succeeded  in  finding  the  nearest 
drug  store  I  spent  a  wild  ten  minutes  telephon 
ing  the  surprised  little  probation  officer,  then 
Frau  Nirlanger,  and  finally  Blackie,  for  no  par 
ticular  reason.  I  shrieked  my  story  over  the 
wire  in  disconnected,  incoherent  sentences. 
Then  I  rushed  back  to  the  little  cottage  where 
Alma  Pflugel  and  I  waited  with  what  patience 
we  could  summon. 

Blackie  was  the  first  to  arrive.  He  required 
few  explanations.  That  is  one  of  the  nicest 
things  about  Blackie.  He  understands  by  leaps 
and  bounds,  while  others  crawl  to  comprehen 
sion.  But  when  Frau  Nirlanger  came,  with 
Bennie  in  tow,  there  were  tears,  and  exclama 
tions,  followed  by  a  little  stricken  silence  on 
the  part  of  Frau  Nirlanger  when  she  saw  Ben 
nie  snatched  to  the  breast  of  this  weeping 
woman.  So  it  was  that  in  the  midst  of  the 
confusion  we  did  not  hear  the  approach  of  the 
probation  officer  and  her  charge.  They  came 
up  the  path  to  the  door,  and  there  the  little  sis 
ter  turned  the  knob,  and  it  yielded  under  her 
fingers,  and  the  old  door  swung  open;  and  so 
she  entered  the  house  quite  as  Alma  Pflugel 


DAWN  O'HARA 

had  planned  she  should,  except  that  the  roses 
were  not  blooming  along  the  edge  of  the  sunken 
brick  walk. 

She  entered  the  room  in  silence,  and  no  one 
could  have  recognized  in  this  pretty,  fragile 
creature  the  pitiful  wreck  of  the  juvenile  court. 
And  when  Alma  Pflugel  saw  the  face  of  the 
little  sister  —  the  poor,  marred,  stricken  face  — 
her  own  face  became  terrible  in  its  agony.  She 
put  Bennie  down  very  gently,  rose,  and  took  the 
shaking  little  figure  in  her  strong  arms,  and 
held  it  as  though  never  to  let  it  go  again. 
There  were  little  broken  words  of  love  and  pity. 
She  called  her  "  Ldmmchen"  and  "  little  one," 
and  so  Frau  Nirlanger  and  Blackie  and  I  stole 
away,  after  a  whispered  consultation  with  the 
little  probation  officer. 

Blackie  had  come  in  his  red  runabout,  and 
now  he  tucked  us  into  it,  feigning  a  deep  dis 
gust. 

"  I'd  like  to  know  where  I  enter  into  this  lit 
tle  drayma,"  he  growled.  "  Ain't  I  got  nothin' 
t'  do  but  run  around  town  unitin'  long  lost  sis 
ters  an'  orphans !  " 

"  Now,  Blackie,  you  know  you  would  never 
have  forgiven  me  if  I  had  left  you  out  of  this. 
Besides,  you  must  hustle  around  and  see  that 
they  need  not  move  out  of  that  dear  little  cot- 


BENNIE  AND  THE  OLD  MAID 

tage.  Now  don't  say  a  word!  You'll  never 
have  a  greater  chance  to  act  the  fairy  god 
mother." 

Frau  Nirlanger's  hand  sought  mine  and  I 
squeezed  it  in  silent  sympathy.  Poor  little 
Frau  Nirlanger,  the  happiness  of  another  had 
brought  her  only  sorrow.  And  she  had  kissed 
Bennie  good-by  with  the  knowledge  that  the  lit 
tle  blue-painted  bed,  with  its  faded  red  roses, 
would  again  stand  empty  in  the  gloom  of  the 
Knapf  attic. 

Norberg  glanced  up  quickly  as  I  entered  the 
city  room.  "  Get  something  good  on  that 
south  side  story?  "  he  asked. 

"  Why,  no,"  I  answered.  "  You  were  mis 
taken  about  that.  The  —  the  nice  old  maid  is 
not  going  to  move,  after  all." 


£217] 


CHAPTER  XY 

FAREWELL   TO    KNAPFS* 

/CONSTERNATION  has  corrugated  the 
^^  brows  of  the  aborigines.  Consternation 
twice  confounded  had  added  a  wrinkle  or  two 
to  my  collection.  We  are  homeless.  That  is, 
we  are  Knapfless  —  we,  to  whom  the  Knapfs 
spelled  home. 

Herr  Knapf,  mustache  aquiver,  and  Frau 
Knapf,  cheek  bones  glistening,  broke  the  news 
to  us  one  evening  just  a  week  after  the  exciting 
day  which  so  changed  Bennie's  life.  "  Es  thut 
uns  sehr,  sehr  leid"  Herr  Knapf  had  begun. 
And  before  he  had  finished,  protesting  German 
groans  mingled  with  voluble  German  explana 
tions.  The  aborigines  were  stricken  down. 
They  clapped  pudgy  fists  to  knobby  foreheads; 
they  smote  their  breasts,  and  made  wild  gestures 
with  their  arms.  If  my  protests  were  less 
frenzied  than  theirs,  it  was  only  because  my 
knowledge  of  German  stops  at  words  of  six 
syllables. 

Out  of  the  chaos  of  ejaculations  and  interro- 


FAREWELL  TO  KNAPFS' 

gation  the  reason  for  our  expulsion  at  last  was 
made  clear.  The  little  German  hotel  had  not 
been  remunerative.  Our  host  and  hostess  were 
too  hospitable  and  too  polite  to  state  the  true 
reason  for  this  state  of  affairs.  Perhaps  rents 
were  too  high.  Perhaps,  thought  I,  Frau 
Knapf  had  been  too  liberal  with  the  butter  in 
the  stewed  chicken.  Perhaps  there  had  been 
too  many  golden  Pfannkuchen  with  real  eggs 
and  milk  stirred  into  them,  and  with  toothsome 
little  islands  of  ruddy  currant  jelly  on  top. 
Perhaps  there  had  been  too  much  honest,  nour 
ishing  food,  and  not  enough  boarding-house 
victuals.  At  any  rate,  the  enterprise  would 
have  to  be  abandoned. 

It  was  then  that  the  bare,  bright  little  dining 
room,  with  its  queer  prints  of  chin-chucking 
lieutenants,  and  its  queerer  faces,  and  its  Ger 
man  cookery  became  very  dear  to  me.  I  had 
grown  to  like  Frau  Knapf,  of  the  shining  cheek 
bones,  and  Herr  Knapf,  of  the  heavy  geniality. 
A  close  bond  of  friendship  had  sprung  up  be 
tween  Frau  Nirlanger  and  me.  I  would  miss 
her  friendly  visits,  and  her  pretty  ways,  and  her 
sparkling  conversation.  She  and  I  had  held 
many  kimonoed  pow-wows,  and  sometimes  — 
not  often  —  she  had  given  me  wonderful 
glimpses  of  that  which  she  had  left  —  of 
[219] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

Vienna,  the  opera,  the  court,  the  life  which  had 
been  hers.  She  talked  marvelously  well,  for 
she  had  all  the  charm  and  vivacity  of  the  true 
Viennese.  Even  the  aborigines,  bristling  pom- 
padours,  thick  spectacles,  terrifying  manner, 
and  all,  became  as  dear  as  old  friends,  now  that 
I  knew  I  must  lose  them. 

The  great,  high-ceilinged  room  upstairs  had 
taken  on  the  look  of  home.  The  Blue-beard 
closet  no  longer  appalled  me.  The  very  pur- 
pleness  of  the  purple  roses  in  the  rug  had  grown 
beautiful  in  my  eyes  because  they  were  part  of 
that  little  domain  which  spelled  peace  and  com 
fort  and  kindness.  How  could  I  live  without 
the  stout  yellow  brocade  armchair!  Its  ple 
thoric  curves  were  balm  for  my  tired  bones. 
Its  great  lap  admitted  of  sitting  with  knees 
crossed,  Turk-fashion.  Its  cushioned  back 
stopped  just  at  the  point  where  the  head  found 
needed  support.  Its  pudgy  arms  offered  rest 
for  tired  elbows;  its  yielding  bosom  was  made 
for  tired  backs.  Given  the  padded  comfort  of 
that  stout  old  chair  — •  a  friendly,  time-tried 
book  between  my  fingers  —  a  dish  of  rudd> 
apples  twinkling  in  the  fire-light;  my  mundane 
soul  snuggled  in  content.  And  then,  too,  the 
book-in-the-making  had  grown  in  that  room. 
It  had  developed  from  a  weak,  wobbling  uncer- 
[220] 


FAREWELL  TO  KNAPFS' 

tainty  into  a  lusty  full-blooded  thing  that  grew 
and  grew  until  it  promised  soon  to  become  man- 
size. 

Now  all  this  was  to  be  changed.  And  I 
knew  that  I  would  miss  the  easy  German  at 
mosphere  of  the  place;  the  kindness  they  had 
shown  me ;  the  chattering,  admiring  Minna ;  the 
taffy-colored  dachshund;  the  aborigines  with 
their  ill-smelling  pipes  and  flappy  slippers;  the 
Wienerschnitzel ;  the  crushed-looking  wives  and 
the  masterful  German  husbands ;  the  very  darns 
in  the  table-cloths  and  the  very  nicks  in  the 
china. 

We  had  a  last  family  gathering  in  token  of 
our  appreciation  of  Herr  and  Frau  Knapf. 
And  because  I  had  not  seen  him  for  almost 
three  weeks ;  and  because  the  time  for  his  going 
was  drawing  so  sickeningly  near;  and  because 
I  was  quite  sure  that  I  had  myself  in  hand;  and 
because  he  knew  the  Knapfs,  and  was  fond  of 
them ;  and  because  —  well,  I  invited  Von  Ger 
hard.  He  came,  and  I  found  myself  danger 
ously  glad  to  see  him,  so  that  I  made  my  greet 
ing  as  airy  and  frivolous  as  possible.  Perhaps 
I  overdid  the  airy  business,  for  Von  Gerhard 
looked  at  me  for  a  long,  silent  minute,  until 
the  nonsense  I  had  been  chattering  died  on  my 
lips,  and  I  found  myself  staring  up  at  him  like 

[221] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

a  child  that  is  apprehensive  of  being  scolded  for 
some  naughtiness. 

"  Not  so  much  chatter,  small  one,"  he  said, 
unsmilingly.  "  This  pretense,  it  is  not  neces 
sary  between  you  and  me.  So.  You  are  ein 
bischen  blasz,  nicht?  A  little  pale?  You  have 
not  been  ill,  Dawn?  " 

"  111?  Never  felt  more  chipper  in  my  life," 
I  made  flippant  answer,  "  and  I  adore  these 
people  who  are  forever  telling  one  how  un 
usually  thin,  or  pale,  or  scrawny  one  is  look- 
ing."  ] 

"  Na,  they  are  not  to  be  satisfied,  these 
women!  If  I  were  to  tell  you  how  lovely  you 
look  to  me  to-night  you  would  draw  yourself 
up  with  chill  dignity  and  remind  me  that  I  am 
not  privileged  to  say  these  things  to  you.  So 
I  discreetly  mention  that  you  are  looking  in 
terestingly  pale,  taking  care  to  keep  all  tender 
ness  out  of  my  tones,  and  still  you  are 
not  pleased."  He  shrugged  despairing  shoul 
ders. 

;  "  Can't  you  strike  a  happy  medium  between 
rudeness  and  tenderness?  After  all,  I  haven't 
had  a  glimpse  of  your  blond  beauty  for  three 
weeks.  And  while  I  don't  ask  you  to  whisper 
sweet  nothings,  still,  after  twenty-one  days — " 
[222] 


FAREWELL  TO  KNAPFS' 

"  You  have  been  lonely?  If  only  I  thought 
that  those  weeks  have  been  as  wearisome  to 
you  — " 

"  Not  lonely  exactly/'  I  hurriedly  inter 
rupted,  "  but  sort  of  wishing  that  some  one 
would  pat  me  on  the  head  and  tell  me  that  I 
was  a  good  doggie.  You  know  what  I  mean. 
It  is  so  easy  to  become  accustomed  to  thought- 
fulness  and  devotion,  and  so  dreadfully  hard 
to  be  happy  without  it,  once  one  has  had  it. 
This  has  been  a  sort  of  training  for  what  I  may 
expect  when  Vienna  has  swallowed  you  up." 

'  You  are  still  obstinate?  These  three  weeks 
have  not  changed  you?  Ach,  Dawn!  Kind- 
chen!—  " 

But  I  knew  that  these  were  thin  spots 
marked  "Danger!"  in  our  conversational 
pond.  So,  "  Come,"  said  I.  "  I  have  two 
new  aborigines  for  you  to  meet.  They  are  the 
very  shiniest  and  wildest  of  all  our  shiny-faced 
and  wild  aborigines.  And  you  should  see  their 
trousers  and  neckties!  If  you  dare  to  come 
back  from  Vienna  wearing  trousers  like 
these !  — " 

"  And  is  the  party  in  honor  of  these  new 
aborigines  ?  "  laughed  Von  Gerhard.  "  You 
did  not  explain  in  your  note.  Merely  you 
[223] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

asked  me  to  come,  knowing  that  I  cared  not  if 
it  were  a  lawn  fete  or  a  ball,  so  long  as  I  might 
again  be  with  you." 

We  were  on  our  way  to  the  dining  room, 
where  the  festivities  were  to  be  held.  I  stopped 
and  turned  a  look  of  surprise  upon  him. 

"  Don't  you  know  that  the  Knapfs  are  leav 
ing?  Did  I  neglect  to  mention  that  this  is  a 
farewell  party  for  Herr  and  Frau  Knapf  ?  We 
are  losing  our  home,  and  we  have  just  one  week 
in  which  to  find  another/' 

"  But  where  will  you  go?  And  why  did  you 
not  tell  me  this  before?  " 

"  I  haven't  an  idea  where  I  shall  lay  my 
poor  old  head.  In  the  lap  of  the  gods,  prob 
ably,  for  I  don't  know  how  I  shall  find  the 
time  to  interview  landladies  and  pack  my  be 
longings  in  seven  short  days.  The  book  will 
have  to  suffer  for  it.  Just  when  it  was  getting 
along  so  beautifully,  too." 

There  was  a  dangerous  tenderness  in  Von 
Gerhard's  eyes  as  he  said:  "Again  you  are  a 
wanderer,  eh  —  small  one  ?  That  you,  with 
your  love  of  beautiful  things,  and  your  fastidi 
ousness,  should  have  to  live  in  this  way  —  in 
these  boarding-houses,  alone,  with  not  even  the 
comforts  that  should  be  yours.  Ach,  Kindchen, 
you  were  not  made  for  that.  You  were  in- 

[224] 


FAREWELL  TO  KNAPFS' 

tended    for    the   home,    with   a   husband,    and 
kinder,  and  all  that  is  truly  worth  while." 

I  swallowed  a  lump  in  my  throat  as  I 
shrugged  my  shoulders.  "  Pooh !  Any 
woman  can  have  a  husband  and  babies,"  I  re 
torted,  wickedly.  "  But  mighty  few  women  can 
write  a  book.  It's  a  special  curse." 

"  And  you  prefer  this  life  —  this  existence, 
to  the  things  that  I  offer  you !  You  would  en 
dure  these  hardships  rather  than  give  up  the 
nonsensical  views  which  ycu  entertain  toward 
your  — " 

"  Please.  We  were  not  to  talk  of  that.  I 
am  enduring  no  hardships.  Since  I  have  lived 
in  this  pretty  town  I  have  become  a  worshiper 
of  the  goddess  Gemutlichkeit.  Perhaps  I 
shan't  find  another  home  as  dear  to  my  heart 
as  this  has  been,  but  at  least  I  shan't  have  to 
sleep  on  a  park  bench,  and  any  one  can  tell  you 
that  park  benches  have  long  been  the  favored 
resting  place  of  genius.  There  is  Frau  Nir- 
langer  beckoning  us.  Now  do  stop  scowling, 
and  smile  for  the  lady.  I  know  you  will  get 
on  beautifully  with  the  aborigines." 

He  did  get  on  with  them  so  beautifully  that 
in  less  than  half  an  hour  they  were  swapping 
stories  of  Germany,  of  Austria,  of  the  universi 
ties,  of  student  life.     Frau  Knapf  served  a 
[225] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

supper,  at  which  some  one  led  in  singing  Auld 
Lang  Syne,  although  the  sounds  emanating 
from  the  aborigines'  end  of  the  table  sounded 
suspiciously  like  Die  Wacht  am  Rhein.  Fol 
lowing  that  the  aborigines  rose  en  masse  and 
roared  out  their  German  university  songs, 
banging  their  glasses  on  the  table  when  they 
came  to  the  chorus  until  we  all  caught  the  spirit 
of  it  and  banged  our  glasses  like  rathskeller 
veterans.  Then  the  red-faced  and  amorous 
Fritz,  he  of  the  absent  Lena,  announced  his  in 
tention  of  entertaining  the  company.  Made 
bold  by  an  injudicious  mixture  of  Herr  Knapf's 
excellent  beer,  and  a  wonderful  punch  which 
Von  Gerhard  had  concocted,  Fritz  mounted  his 
chair,  placed  his  plump  hand  over  the  spot 
where  he  supposed  his  heart  to  be,  fastened  his 
watery  blue  eyes  upon  my  surprised  and  blush 
ing  countenance,  and  sang  "  Weh !  Dass  Wir 
Scheiden  Miissen!  "  in  an  astonishingly  beau 
tiful  barytone.  I  dared  not  look  at  Von  Ger 
hard,  for  I  knew  that  he  was  purple  with  sup 
pressed  mirth,  so  I  stared  stonily  at  the  sardine 
sandwich  and  dill  pickle  on  my  plate,  and  felt 
myself  growing  hot  and  hysterical,  and  cold  and 
tearful  by  turns. 

At  the  end  of  the  last  verse  I  rose  hastily 

[226] 


FAREWELL  TO  KNAPFS' 

and  brought  from  their  hiding-place  the  gifts 
which  we  of  Knapfs'  had  purchased  as  remem 
brances  for  Herr  and  Frau  Knapf.  I  had  been 
delegated  to  make  the  presentation  speech,  so 
I  grasped  in  one  hand  the  too  elaborate  pipe 
that  was  to  make  Herr  Knapf  unhappy,  and  the 
too  fashionable  silk  umbrella  that  was  to  appall 
Frau  Knapf,  and  ascended  the  little  platform  at 
the  end  of  the  dining  room,  and  began  to  speak 
in  what  I  fondly  thought  to  be  fluent  and  high- 
sounding  German.  Immediately  the  aborig 
ines  went  off  into  paroxysms  of  laughter. 
They  threw  back  their  heads  and  roared,  and 
slapped  their  thighs,  and  spluttered.  It  ap 
peared  that  they  thought  I  was  making  a  hum 
orous  speech.  At  that  discovery  I  cast  dignity 
aside  and  continued  my  speech  in  the  language 
of  a  German  vaudeville  comedian,  with  a  dash 
of  Weber  and  Field  here  and  there.  With  the 
presentation  of  the  silk  umbrella  Frau  Knapf 
burst  into  tears,  groped  about  helplessly  for  her 
apron,  realized  that  it  was  missing  from  its  ac 
customed  place,  and  wiped  her  tears  upon  her 
cherished  blue  silk  sleeve  in  the  utter  abandon 
of  her  sorrow.  We  drank  to  the  future  health 
and  prosperity  of  our  tearful  host  and  hostess, 
and  some  one  suggested  drei  mal  drei,  to  which 
[227] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

we  responded  in  a  manner  to  make  the  chin- 
chucking  lieutenant  tremble  in  his  frame  on 
the  wall. 

When  it  was  all  over  Frau  Nirlanger  beck-' 
oned  me,  and  she,  Dr.  von  Gerhard  and  I  stole 
out  into  the  hall  and  stood  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairway,  discussing  our  plans  for  the  future, 
and  trying  to  smile  as  we  talked  of  this  plan 
and  that.  Frau  Nirlanger,  in  the  pretty  white 
gown,  was  looking  haggard  and  distrait.  The 
oogly  husband  was  still  in  the  dining  room, 
finishing  the  beer  and  punch,  of  which  he  had 
already  taken  too  much. 

"  A  tiny  apartment  we  have  taken,"  said 
Frau  Nirlanger,  softly.  "  It  is  better  so. 
Then  I  shall  have  a  little  housework,  a  little 
cooking,  a  little  marketing  to  keep  me  busy  and 
perhaps  happy."  Her  hand  closed  over  mine. 
"  But  that  shall  us  not  separate,"  she  pleaded, 
"  Without  you  to  make  me  sometimes  laugh 
what  should  I  then  do?  You  will  bring  her 
often  to  our  little  apartment,  not?"  she  went 
on,  turning  appealingly  to  Von  Gerhard. 

"  As  often  as  Mrs.  Orme  will  allow  me,"  he 
answered. 

"  Ach,  yes.  So  lonely  I  shall  be.  You  do 
not  know  what  she  has  been  to  me,  this  Dawn. 
She  is  brave  for  two.  Always  laughing  she  is, 

[228] 


FAREWELL  TO  KNAPFS' 

and  merry,  nicht  wahr  ?     Meine  kleme  Soldatin, 
I  call  her. 

"  Soldatin,  eh  ?  "  mused  Von  Gerhard.  "  Our 
little  soldier.  She  is  well  named.  And  her  bat 
tles  she  fights  alone.  But  quite  alone."  His 
eyes,  as  they  looked  down  on  me  from  his  great 
height  had  that  in  them  which  sent  the  blood 
rushing  and  tingling  to  my  finger-tips.  I 
brought  my  hand  to  my  head  in  stiff  military 
salute. 

"  Inspection  satisfactory,  sir?  " 

He  laughed  a  rueful  little  laugh.  "  Emi 
nently.  Aber  ganz  befriedigend." 

He  was  very  tall,  and  straight  and  good  to 
look  at  as  he  stood  there  in  the  hall  with  the 
light  from  the  newel-post  illuminating  his  fea 
tures  and  emphasizing  his  blondness.  Frau  Nir- 
langer's  face  wore  a  drawn  little  look  of  pain 
as  she  gazed  at  him,  and  from  him  to  the  figure 
of  her  husband  who  had  just  emerged  from  the 
dining  room,  and  was  making  unsteady  progress 
toward  us.  Herr  Nirlanger's  face  was  flushed 
and  his  damp,  dark  hair  was  awry  so  that  one 
lock  straggled  limply  down  over  his  forehead. 
As  he  approached  he  surveyed  us  with  a  surly 
frown  that  changed  slowly  into  a  leering  grin. 
He  lurched  over  and  placed  a  hand  familiarly 
on  my  shoulder. 

[229] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

"We  mus'  part,;>  he  announced,  dramatic 
ally.  UO,  weh!  Tht  bes'  of  frien's  m'z 
part.  Well,  g'by,  li'l  interfering  Teufel. 
F'give  you,  though,  b'cause  you're  such  a  pretty 
li'l  Teufel."  He  raised  one  hand  as  though  to 
pat  my  cheek  and  because  of  the  horror  which 
I  saw  on  the  face  of  the  woman  beside  me  I 
tried  to  smile,  and  did  not  shrink  from  him. 
But  with  a  quick  movement  Von  Gerhard 
clutched  the  swaying  figure  and  turned  it  so 
that  it  faced  the  stairs. 

"  Come  Nirlanger  1  Time  for  hard-working 
men  like  you  and  me  to  be  in  bed.  Mrs.  Orme 
must  not  nod  over  her  desk  to-morrow,  either. 
So  good-night.  Schlafen  Sie  wohl." 

Konrad  Nirlanger  turned  a  scowling  face 
over  his  shoulder.  Then  he  forgot  what  he 
was  scowling  for,  and  smiled  a  leering  smile. 

"  Pretty  good  frien's,  you  an'  the  li'l  Teufel, 
yes?  Guess  we'll  have  to  watch  you,  huh, 
Anna?  We'll  watch  'em,  won't  we?  " 

He  began  to  climb  the  stairs  laboriously,  with 
Frau  Nirlanger's  light  figure  flitting  just  ahead 
of  him.  At  the  bend  in  the  stairway  she 
turned  and  looked  down  on  us  a  moment,  her 
eyes  very  bright  and  big.  She  pressed  her 
fingers  to  her  lips  and  wafted  a  little  kiss  toward 
us  with  a  gesture  indescribably  graceful  and  pa- 
[230] 


FAREWELL  TO  KNAPFS' 

thetic.  She  viewed  her  husband's  laborious 
progress,  not  daring  to  offer  help.  Then  the 
turn  in  the  stair  hid  her  from  sight. 

In  the  dim  quiet  of  the  little  hallway  Von 
Gerhard  held  out  his  hands  —  those  deft, 
manual  hands  —  those  steady,  sure,  surgeonly 
hands  —  hands  to  cling  to,  to  steady  oneself 
by,  and  because  I  needed  them  most  just  then, 
and  because  I  longed  with  my  whole  soul  to 
place  both  my  weary  hands  in  those  strong 
capable  ones  and  to  bring  those  dear,  cool,  sane 
fingers  up  to  my  burning  cheeks,  I  put  one  foot 
on  the  first  stair  and  held  out  two  chilly  finger 
tips.  "  Good-night,  Herr  Doktor,"  I  said,  "  and 
thank  you,  not  only  for  myself,  but  for  her.  I 
have  felt  what  she  feels  to-night.  It  is  not  a 
pleasant  thing  to  be  ashamed  of  one's  husband." 

Von  Gerhard's  two  hands  closed  over  that 
one  of  mine.  "  Dawn,  you  will  let  me  help  you 
to  find  comfortable  quarters?  You  cannot 
tramp  about  from  place  to  place  all  the  week. 
Let  us  get  a  list  of  addresses,  and  then,  with  the 
machine,  we  can  drive  from  one  to  the  other  in 
an  hour.  It  will  at  least  save  you  time  and 
strength." 

"  Go  boarding-house  hunting  in  a  stunning 
green  automobile !  "  I  exclaimed.  From  my 
vantage  point  on  the  steps  I  could  look  down 


DAWN  CTHARA 

on  him,  and  there  came  over  me  a  great  long 
ing  to  run  my  fingers  gently  through  that  crisp 
blond  hair,  and  to  bring  his  head  down  close 
against  my  breast  for  one  exquisite  moment. 
So  — "  Landladies  and  oitermobiles !  "  I 
laughed.  "  Never !  Don't  you  know  that  if 
they  got  one  glimpse,  through  the  front  parlor 
windows,  of  me  stepping  grand-like  out  of  your 
green  motor  car,  they  would  promptly  over 
charge  me  for  any  room  in  the  house?  I  shall 
go  room-hunting  in  my  oldest  hat,  with  one 
finger  sticking  out  of  my  glove." 

Von  Gerhard  shrugged  despairing  shoulders. 
"  Na,  of  what  use  is  it  to  plead  with  you. 
Sometimes  I  wonder  if,  after  all,  you  are  not 
merely  amusing  yourself.  Getting  copy,  per 
haps,  for  the  book,  or  a  new  experience  to  add 
to  your  already  varied  store." 

Abruptly  I  turned  to  hide  my  pain,  and  be 
gan  to  ascend  the  stairs.  With  a  bound  Von 
Gerhard  was  beside  me,  his  face  drawn  and 
contrite. 

"  Forgive  me,  Dawn  I  I  know  that  you  are 
wisest.  It  is  only  that  I  become  a  little  mad, 
I  think,  when  I  see  you  battling  alone  like  this, 
among  strangers,  and  know  that  I  have  not  the 
right  to  help  you.  I  knew  not  what  I  was  say 
ing.  Come,  raise  your  eyes  and  smile,  like  the 
[232] 


FAREWELL  TO  KNAPFS' 

ftttle  Soldatin  that  you  are.  So.  Now  I  am 
forgiven,  yes?  " 

I  smiled  cheerily  enough  into  his  blue  eyes. 
"  Quite  forgiven.  And  now  you  must  run 
along.  This  is  scandalously  late.  The  aborig 
ines  will  be  along  saying  '  Morgen !  '  instead 
of  '  Nabben' !  '  if  we  stay  here  much  longer. 
Good-night." 

1  You  will  give  me  your  new  address  as  soon 
as  you  have  found  a  satisfactory  home?  " 

"  Never  fear  I  I  probably  shall  be  pestering 
you  with  telephone  calls,  urging  you  to  have 
pity  upon  me  in  my  loneliness.  Now  good 
night  again.  I'm  as  full  of  farewells  as  a 
Bernhardt."  And  to  end  it  I  ran  up  the  stairs. 
At  the  bend,  just  where  Frau  Nirlanger  had 
turned,  I  too  stopped  and  looked  over  my  shoul 
der.  Von  Gerhard  was  standing  as  I  had  left 
him,  looking  up  at  me.  And  like  Frau  Nir 
langer,  I  wafted  a  little  kiss  in  his  direction, 
before  I  allowed  the  bend  in  the  stairs  to  cut 
off  my  view.  But  Von  Gerhard  did  not  signify 
by  look  or  word  that  he  had  seen  it,  as  he  stood 
looking  up  at  me,  one  strong  white  hand  resting 
on  the  broad  baluster. 


[233] 


CHAPTER  XVI 

JUNE     MOONLIGHT,     AND    A    NEW     BOARDING* 
HOUSE 

'  I  "'HERE  was  a  week  in  which  to  scurry 
•*•  about  for  a  new  home.  The  days  scam 
pered  by,  tripping  over  one  another  in  their 
haste.  My  sleeping  hours  were  haunted  by 
nightmares  of  landladies  and  impossible  board 
ing-house  bedrooms.  Columns  of  "  To  Let, 
Furnished  or  Unfurnished  "  ads  filed,  advanced, 
and  retreated  before  my  dizzy  eyes.  My  time 
after  office  hours  was  spent  in  climbing  dim 
stairways,  interviewing  unenthusiastic  females 
in  kimonos,  and  peering  into  ugly  bedrooms 
papered  with  sprawly  and  impossible  patterns 
and  filled  with  the  odors  of  dead-and-gone  din 
ners.  I  found  one  room  less  impossible  than 
the  rest,  only  to  be  told  that  the  preference  was 
to  be  given  to  a  man  who  had  "  looked  "  the 
day  before. 

"  I  d'ruther  take  gents  only/'  explained  the 
ample  person  who  carried  the  keys  to  the  man 
sion.     "  Gents  goes  early  in  the  morning  and 
[234] 


A  NEW  BOARDING-HOUSE 

conies  in  late  at  night,  and  that's  all  you  ever 
see  of  'em,  half  the  time.  I've  tried  ladies, 
an'  they  get  me  wild,  always  yellin'  for  hot 
water  to  wash  their  hair,  or  pastin'  handker 
chiefs  up  on  the  mirr'r  or  wantin'  to  butt  into 
the  kitchen  to  press  this  or  that.  I'll  let  you 
know  if  the  gent  don't  take  it,  but  I  got  an 
idea  he  will." 

He  did.  At  any  rate,  no  voice  summoned 
me  to  that  haven  for  gents  only.  There  were 
other  landladies  —  landladies  fat  and  German; 
landladies  lean  and  Irish;  landladies  loquacious 
(regardless  of  nationality)  ;  landladies  reserved; 
landladies  husbandless,  wedded,  widowed,  di 
vorced,  and  willing;  landladies  slatternly;  land 
ladies  prim;  and  all  hinting  of  past  estates 
wherein  there  had  been  much  grandeur. 

At  last,  when  despair  gripped  me,  and  I  had 
horrid  visions  of  my  trunk,  hat-box  and  type 
writer  reposing  on  the  sidewalk  while  I,  home 
less,  sat  perched  in  the  midst  of  them,  I  chanced 
upon  a  room  which  commanded  a  glorious  view 
of  the  lake.  True,  it  was  too  expensive  for  my 
slim  purse;  true,  the  owner  of  it  was  sour  of 
feature ;  true,  the  room  itself  was  cavernous  and 
unfriendly  and  cold-looking,  but  the  view  of  the 
great,  blue  lake  triumphed  over  all  these,  al 
though  a  cautious  inner  voice  warned  me  that 

[235] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

that  lake  view  would  cover  a  multitude  of  sins. 
I  remembered,  later,  how  she  of  the  sour  visage 
had  dilated  upon  the  subject  of  the  sunrise  over 
the  water.  I  told  her  at  the  time  that  while  I 
was  passionately  fond  of  sunrises  myself,  still 
I  should  like  them  just  as  well  did  they  not  oc 
cur  so  early  in  the  morning.  Whereupon  she 
of  the  vinegar  countenance  had  sniffed.  I 
loathe  landladies  who  sniff. 

My  trunk  and  trusty  typewriter  were  sent  on 
to  my  new  home  at  noon,  unchaperoned,  for  I 
had  no  time  to  spare  at  that  hour  of  the  day. 
Later  I  followed  them,  laden  with  umbrella, 
boxes,  brown-paper  parcels,  and  other  unfash 
ionable  moving-day  paraphernalia.  I  bumped 
and  banged  my  way  up  the  two  flights  of  stairs 
that  led  to  my  lake  view  and  my  bed,  and  my 
heart  went  down  as  my  feet  went  up.  By  the 
time  the  cavernous  bedroom  was  gained  I  felt 
decidedly  quivery-mouthed,  so  that  I  dumped 
my  belongings  on  the  floor  in  a  heap  and  went 
to  the  window  to  gaze  on  the  lake  until  my 
spirits  should  rise.  But  it  was  a  gray  day,  and 
the  lake  looked  large,  and  wet  and  unsociable. 
You  couldn't  get  chummy  with  it.  I  turned 
to  my  great  barn  of  a  room.  You  couldn't  get 
chummy  with  that,  either.  I  began  to  unpack, 
with  furious  energy.  In  vain  I  turned  every 

[236] 


A  NEW  BOARDING-HOUSE 

gas  jet  blazing  high.  They  only  cast  dim 
shadows  in  the  murky  vastness  of  that  awful 
chamber.  A  whole  Fourth  of  July  fireworks 
display,  Roman  candles,  sky-rockets,  pin-wheels,J 
set  pieces  and  all,  could  not  have  made  that 
room  take  on  a  festive  air. 

As  I  unpacked  I  thought  of  my  cosy  room 
at  Knapfs',  and  as  I  thought  I  took  my  head 
out  of  my  trunk  and  sank  down  on  the  floor 
with  a  satin  blouse  in  one  hand,  and  a  walking 
boot  in  the  other,  and  wanted  to  bellow  with 
loneliness.  There  came  to  me  dear  visions  of 
the  friendly  old  yellow  brocade  chair,  and  the 
lamplight,  and  the  fireplace,  and  Frau  Nir- 
langer,  and  the  Pfannkuchen.  I  thought  of  the 
aborigines.  In  my  homesick  mind  their  bumpy 
faces  became  things  of  transcendent  beauty.  I 
could  have  put  my  head  on  their  combined 
shoulders  and  wept  down  their  blue  satin  neck 
ties.  In  my  memory  of  Frau  Knapf  it  seemed 
to  me  that  I  could  discern  a  dim,  misty  halo 
hovering  above  her  tightly  wadded  hair.  My, 
soul  went  out  to  her  as  I  recalled  the  shining 
cheek-bones,  and  the  apron,  and  the  chickens 
stewed  in  butter.  I  would  have  given  a  year 
out  of  my  life  to  have  heard  that  good-natured, 
"  NabbenV  One  aborigine  had  been  wont  to 
emphasize  his  after-dinner  arguments  with  a 
[237] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

toothpick  brandished  fiercely  between  thumb 
and  finger.  The  brandisher  had  always  an 
noyed  me.  Now  I  thought  of  him  with  tender 
ness  in  my  heart  and  reproached  myself  for  my 
fastidiousness.  I  should  have  wept  if  I  had 
not  had  a  walking  boot  in  one  hand,  and  a  satin 
blouse  in  the  other.  A  walking  boot  is  but  a 
cold  comfort.  And  my  thriftmess  denied  my 
tears  the  soiling  of  the  blouse.  So  I  sat  up  on 
my  knees  and  finished  the  unpacking. 

Just  before  dinner  time  I  donned  a  becoming 
gown  to  chirk  up  my  courage,  groped  my  way 
down  the  long,  dim  stairs,  and  telephoned  to 
Von  Gerhard.  It  seemed  to  me  that  just  to 
hear  his  voice  would  instill  in  me  new  courage 
and  hope.  I  gave  the  number,  and  waited. 

"Dr.  von  Gerhard?"  repeated  a  woman's 
voice  at  the  other  end  of  the  wire.  "  He  is 
very  busy.  Will  you  leave  your  name?  " 

"No,"  I  snapped.  "I'll  hold  the  wire. 
Tell  him  that  Mrs.  Orme  is  waiting  to  speak  to 
him." 

"  I'll  see."     The  voice  was  grudging. 

Another  wait;  then — "Dawn!"  came  his 
voice  in  glad  surprise. 

"Hello!"  I  cried,  hysterically.  "Hello! 
Oh,  talk !  Say  something  nice,  for  pity's  sake ! 
I'm  sorry  that  I've  taken  you  away  from  what* 

[238] 


A  NEW  BOARDING-HOUSE 

ever  you  were  doing,  but  I  couldn't  help  it. 
Just  talk  please  I  I'm  dying  of  loneliness." 

"  Child,  are  you  ill?"  Von  Gerhard's  voice 
Was  so  satisfyingly  solicitous.  "  Is  anything 
wrong?  Your  voice  is  trembling.  I  can  hear 
it  quite  plainly.  What  has  happened?  Has 
Norah  written  — " 

"Norah?  No.  There  was  nothing  in  her 
letter  to  upset  me.  It  is  only  the  strangeness 
of  this  place.  I  shall  be  all  right  in  a  day  or 


so." 

"The  new  home  —  it  is  satisfactory?  You 
have  found  what  you  wanted?  Your  room  is 
comfortable?  " 

"  It's  —  it's  a  large  room,"  I  faltered. 
"  And  there's  a  —  a  large  view  of  the  lake, 
too." 

There  was  a  smothered  sound  at  the  other 
end  of  the  wire.  Then  — "  I  want  you  to  meet 
me  down-town  at  seven  o'clock.  We  will  have 
dinner  together,"  Von  Gerhard  said,  "  I  can 
not  have  you  moping  up  there  all  alone  all  even 
ing." 

"  I  can't  come." 

"Why?" 

u  Because  I  want  to  so  very  much.  And  any 
way,  I'm  much  more  cheerful  now.  I  am  going 
in  to  dinner.  And  after  dinner  I  shall  get  ac- 
[239] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

quainted  with  my  room.  There  are  six  corners 
and  all  the  space  under  the  bed  that  I-  haven't 
explored  yet." 

"Dawn!" 

"Yes?" 

"If  you  were  free  to-night,  would  you  marry 
me?  If  you  knew  that  the  next  month  would 
find  you  mistress  of  yourself  would  you  — " 

"Ernst!" 

"Yes?" 

"  If  the  gates  of  Heaven  were  opened  wide  to 
you,  and  they  had  '  Welcome !  '  done  in  dia 
monds  over  the  door,  and  all  the  loveliest  angel 
ladies  grouped  about  the  doorway  to  receive 
you,  and  just  beyond  you  could  see  awaiting  you 
all  that  was  beautiful,  and  most  exquisite,  and 
most  desirable,  would  you  enter?  " 

And  then  I  hung  up  the  receiver  and  went 
in  to  dinner.  I  went  in  to  dinner,  but  not  to 
dine.  Oh,  shades  of  those  who  have  suffered 
in  boarding-houses  —  that  dining  room !  It 
must  have  been  patterned  after  the  dining  room 
at  Dotheboys'  hall.  It  was  bare,  and  cheer 
less,  and  fearfully  undressed  looking.  The 
diners  were  seated  at  two  long,  unsociable, 
boarding-housey  tables  that  ran  the  length  of 
the  room,  and  all  the  women  folks  came  down 
to  dine  with  white  wool  shawls  wrapped  snugly 
[240] 


A  NEW  BOARDING-HOUSE 

about  their  susceptible  black  silk  shoulders. 
The  general  effect  was  that  of  an  Old  People's 
Home.  Seat  after  seat  at  table  was  filled,  and 
I  found  myself  the  youngest  thing  present.  I 
felt  so  criminally  young  that  I  wondered  they 
did  not  strap  me  in  a  high  chair  and  ram  bread 
and  milk  down  my  throat.  Now  and  then  the 
door  would  open  to  admit  another  snuffly, 
ancient,  and  be-shawled  member  of  the  com 
pany.  I  learned  that  Mrs.  Schwartz,  on  my 
right,  did  not  care  mooch  for  shteak  for  break 
fast,  aber  a  leedle  1'mb  ch'p  she  likes.  Also 
that  the  elderly  party  on  my  left  and  the  elderly 
party  on  my  right  resented  being  separated  by 
my  person.  Conversation  between  E.  P.  on 
right,  and  E.  P.  on  left  scintillated  across  my 
soup,  thus: 

"  How  you  feel  this  evening  Mis'  Maurer, 
h'm?" 

"  Don't  ask  me." 

"  No  wonder  you  got  rheumatism.  My 
room  was  like  a  ice-house  all  day.  Yours 
too?" 

"  I  don't  complain  any  more.  Much  good  it 
does.  Barley  soup  again?  In  my  own  home 
I  never  ate  it,  and  here  I  pay  my  good  money 
and  get  four  time  a  week  barley  soup.  Are 
those  fresh  cucumbers?  M-m-m-m.  They 


DAWN  O'HARA 

haven't  stood  long  enough.  Look  at  Mis' 
Miller.  She  feels  good  this  evening.  She 
should  feel  good.  Twenty-five  cents  she  won 
at  bridge.  I  never  seen  how  that  woman  is  got 
luck." 

I  choked,  gasped,  and  fled. 

Back  in  my  own  mausoleum  once  more  I  put 
things  in  order,  dragged  my  typewriter  stand 
into  the  least  murky  corner  under  the  bravest 
gas  jet  and  rescued  my  tottering  reason  by  turn 
ing  out  a  long  letter  to  Norah.  That  finished, 
my  spirits  rose.  I  dived  into  the  bottom  of  my 
trunk  for  the  loose  sheets  of  the  book-in-the- 
making,  glanced  over  the  last  three  or  four, 
discovered  that  they  did  not  sound  so  maudlin 
as  I  had  feared,  and  straightway  forgot  my 
gloomy  surroundings  in  the  fascination  of  weav 
ing  the  tale. 

In  the  midst  of  my  fine  frenzy  there  came 
a  knock  at  the  door.  In  the  hall  stood  the 
anemic  little  serving  maid  who  had  attended 
me  at  dinner.  She  was  almost  eclipsed  by  a 
huge  green  pasteboard  box. 

"  You're  Mis'  Orme,  ain't  you?  This  here's 
for  you." 

The  little  white-cheeked  maid  hovered  at  the 
threshold  while  I  lifted  the  box  cover  and  re 
vealed  the  perfection  of  the  American  beauty 
[242] 


A  NEW  BOARDING-HOUSE 

buds  that  lay  there,  all  dewy  and  fragrant 
The  eyes  of  the  little  maid  were  wide  with  won 
der  as  she  gazed,  and  because  I  had  known 
flower-hunger  I  separated  two  stately  blossoms 
from  the  glowing  cluster  and  held  them  out  to 
her. 

"  For  me!  "  she  gasped,  and  brought  her  lips 
down  to  them,  gently.  Then  — "  There's  a 
high  green  jar  downstairs  you  can  have  to  stick 
your  flowers  .in.  You  ain't  got  nothin'  big 
enough  in  here,  except  your  water  pitcher.  An5 
putting  these  grand  flowers  in  a  water  pitcher 
—  why,  it'd  be  like  wearing  a  silk  dress  over  a 
flannel  petticoat,  wouldn't  it?  " 

When  the  anemic  little  boarding-house 
slavey  with  the  beauty-loving  soul  had  fetched 
the  green  jar,  I  placed  the  shining  stems  in  it 
with  gentle  fingers.  At  the  bottom  of  the  box 
I  found  a  card  that  read :  "  For  it  is  impossible 
to  live  in  a  room  with  red  roses  and  still  be 
traurig." 

How  well  he  knew  I  And  how  truly  impos 
sible  to  be  sad  when  red  roses  are  glowing  for 
one,  and  filling  the  air  with  their  fragrance! 

The  interruption  was  fatal  to  book-writing. 
My  thoughts  were  a  chaos  of  red  roses,  and 
anemic  little  maids  with  glowing  eyes,  and 
thoughtful  young  doctors  with  a  marvelous  un- 

[243] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

derstanding  of  feminine  moods.  So  I  turned 
out  all  the  lights,  undressed  by  moonlight,  and, 
throwing  a  kimono  about  me,  carried  my  jar  of 
roses  to  the  window  and  sat  down  beside  them 
so  that  their  exquisite  scent  caressed  me. 

The  moonlight  had  put  a  spell  of  white  magic 
upon  the  lake.  It  was  a  light-flooded  world 
that  lay  below  my  window.  Summer,  finger 
on  lip,  had  stolen  in  upon  the  heels  of  spring. 
Dim,  shadowy  figures  dotted  the  benches  of  the 
park  across  the  way.  Just  beyond  lay  the  sil 
ver  lake,  a  dazzling  bar  of  moonlight  on  its 
breast.  Motors  rushed  along  the  roadway  with 
a  roar  and  a  whir  and  were  gone,  leaving  a 
trail  of  laughter  behind  them.  From  the  open 
window  of  the  room  below  came  the  slip-slap 
of  cards  on  the  polished  table  surface,  and  the 
low  buzz  of  occasional  conversation  as  the 
players  held  post-mortems.  Under  the  street 
light  the  popcorn  vender's  cart  made  a  blot  on 
the  mystic  beauty  of  the  scene  below.  But  the 
perfume  of  my  red  roses  came  to  me,  and  their 
velvet  caressed  my  cheek,  and  beyond  the  noise 
and  lights  of  the  street  lay  that  glorious  lake 
with  the  bar  of  moonlight  on  its  soft  breast.  I 
gazed  and  forgave  the  sour-faced  landlady  her 
dining  room;  forgave  the  elderly  parties  their 
shawls  and  barley  soup;  forgot  for  a  moment 
[244] 


A  NEW  BOARDING-HOUSE 

my  weary  thoughts  of  Peter  Orme ;  forgot  every 
thing  except  that  it  was  June,  and  moonlight 
and  good  to  be  alive. 

All  the  changes  and  events  of  that  strange, 
eventful  year  came  crowding  to  my  mind  as  I 
crouched  there  at  the  window.  Four  new 
friends,  tried  and  true!  I  conned  them  over 
joyously  in  my  heart.  What  a  strange  contrast 
they  made !  Blackie,  of  the  elastic  morals,  and 
the  still  more  elastic  heart;  Frau  Nirlanger,  of 
the  smiling  lips  and  the  lilting  voice  and  the 
tragic  eyes  — •  she  who  had  stooped  from  a 
great  height  to  pluck  the  flower  of  love  bloom 
ing  below,  only  to  find  a  worthless  weed  sully 
ing  her  hand;  Alma  Pflugel,  with  the  unquench 
able  light  of  gratefulness  in  her  honest  face; 
Von  Gerhard,  ready  to  act  as  buffer  between  my* 
self  and  the  world,  tender  as  a  woman,  gravely 
thoughtful,  with  the  light  of  devotion  glowing 
in  his  steady  eyes. 

"  Here's  richness,"  said  I,  like  the  fat  boy 
in  Pickwick  Papers.  And  I  thanked  God  for 
the  new  energy  which  had  sent  me  to  this  lovely 
city  by  the  lake.  I  thanked  Him  that  I  had 
not  been  content  to  remain  a  burden  to  Max  and 
,  Norah,  growing  sour  and  crabbed  with  the  years. 
Those  years  of  work  and  buffeting  had  made 
of  me  a  broader,  finer,  truer  type  of  woman- 


DAWN  O'HARA 

hood  —  had  caused  me  to  forget  my  own  little 
tragedy  in  contemplating  the  great  human 
comedy.  And  so  I  made  a  little  prayer  there  in 
the  moon-flooded  room. 

"  O  dear  Lord,"  I  prayed,  and  I  did  not 
mean  that  it  should  sound  irreverent.  "  O  dear 
Lord,  don't  bother  about  my  ambitions!  Just 
let  me  remain  strong  and  well  enough  to  do 
the  work  that  is  my  portion  from  day  to  day. 
Keep  me  faithful  to  my  standards  of  right  and 
wrong.  Let  this  new  and  wonderful  love  which 
has  come  into  my  life  be  a  staff  of  strength  and 
comfort  instead  of  a  burden  of  weariness.  Let 
me  not  grow  careless  and  slangy  as  the  years  go 
by.  Let  me  keep  my  hair  and  complexion  and 
teeth,  and  deliver  me  from  wearing  soiled 
blouses  and  doing  my  hair  in  a  knob.  Amen." 

I  felt  quite  cheerful  after  that  —  so  cheerful 
that  the  strange  bumps  in  the  new  bed  did  not 
bother  me  as  unfamiliar  beds  usually  did.  The 
roses  I  put  to  sleep  in  their  jar  of  green,  keeping 
one  to  hold  against  my  cheek  as  I  slipped  into 
dreamland.  I  thought  drowsily,  just  before 
sleep  claimed  me : 

"  To-morrow,  after  office  hours,  I'll  tuck  up 
my  skirt,  and  wrap  my  head  in  a  towel  and  have 
a  housecleaning  bee.  I'll  move  the  bed  where 
the  wash-stand  is  now,  and  I'll  make  the  chiffon- 


A  NEW  BOARDING-HOUSE 

nler  twap  places  with  the  couch.  One  feels  on 
friendlier  terms  with  furniture  that  one  has 
shoved  about  a  little.  How  brilliant  the  moon 
light  is !  The  room  is  flooded  with  it.  Those 
roses  —  sweet !  —  sweet !  — " 

When  I  awoke  it  was  morning.  During  the 
days  that  followed  I  looked  back  gratefully  upon 
that  night,  with  its  moonlight,  and  its  roses, 
and  its  great  peace. 


t*47l 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE    SHADOW   OF   TERROR 

days  before  the  date  set  for  Von  Ger* 
hard's  departure  the  book  was  finished, 
typed,  re-read,  packed,  and  sent  away.  Half 
an  hour  after  it  was  gone  all  its  most  glaring 
faults  seemed  to  marshall  themselves  before  my 
mind's  eye.  Whole  paragraphs,  that  had  read 
quite  reasonably  before,  now  loomed  ludicrous 
in  perspective.  I  longed  to  snatch  it  back;  to 
tidy  it  here,  to  take  it  in  there,  to  smooth  cer 
tain  rough  places  neglected  in  my  haste.  For 
almost  a  year  I  had  lived  with  this  thing,  so  close 
that  its  faults  and  its  virtues  had  become  in 
distinguishable  to  me.  Day  and  night,  for  many 
months,  it  had  been  in  my  mind.  Of  late  some 
instinct  had  prompted  me  to  finish  it.  I  had 
worked  at  it  far  into  the  night,  until  I  marveled 
that  the  ancient  occupants  of  the  surrounding 
rooms  did  not  enter  a  combined  protest  against 
the  clack-clacking  of  my  typewriter  keys.  And 
now  that  it  was  gone  I  wondered,  dully,  if  I 
sould  feel  Yon  Gerhard's  departure  more  keenly. 


THE  SHADOW  OF  TERROR 

No  one  knew  of  the  existence  of  the  book 
except  Norah,  Von  Gerhard,  Blackie  and  me. 
Blackie  had  a  way  of  inquiring  after  its  progress 
in  hushed  tones  of  mock  awe.  Also  he  de 
lighted  in  getting  down  on  hands  and  knees  and 
guiding  a  yard-stick  carefully  about  my  desk 
with  a  view  to  having  a  fence  built  around  it, 
bearing  an  inscription  which  would  inform  ad 
miring  tourists  that  here  was  the  desk  at  which 
the  brilliant  author  had  been  wont  to  sit- 
when  grinding  out  heart-throb  stories  for  the 
humble  Post.  He  took  an  impish  delight  in  my 
struggles  with  my  hero  and  heroine,  and  his  in 
quiries  after  the  health  of  both  were  of  such 
a  nature  as  to  make  any  earnest  writer  person 
rise  in  wrath  and  slay  him.  I  had  seen  little  of 
Blackie  of  late.  My  spare  hours  had  been  de 
voted  to  the  work  in  hand.  On  the  day  after  the 
book  was  sent  away  I  was  conscious  of  a  little 
shock  as  I  strolled  into  Blackie's  sanctum  and 
took  my  accustomed  seat  beside  his  big  desk. 
There  was  an  oddly  pinched  look  about 
Blackie's  nostrils  and  lips,  I  thought.  And  the 
deep-set  black  eyes  appeared  deeper  and  blacker 
than  ever  in  his  thin  little  face. 

A  week  of  unseasonable  weather  had  come 
upon  the  city.  June  was  going  out  in  a  wave  of 
torrid  heat  such  as  August  might  have  boasted. 
[249] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

The  day  had  seemed  endless  and  intolerably 
close.  I  was  feeling  very  limp  and  languid. 
Perhaps,  thought  I,  it  was  the  heat  which  had 
wilted  Blackie's  debonair  spirits. 

"  It  has  been  a  long  time  since  we've  had  a 
talk-talk,  Blackie.  I've  missed  you.  Also  you 
look  just  a  wee  bit  green  around  the  edges. 
I'm  thinking  a  vacation  wouldn't  hurt  you." 

Blackie's  lean  brown  forefinger  caressed  the 
bowl  of  his  favorite  pipe.  His  eyes,  that  had 
been  gazing  out  across  the  roofs  beyond  his 
window,  came  back  to  me,  and  there  was  in  them 
a  curious  and  quizzical  expression  as  of  one  who 
is  inwardly  amused. 

"  I've  been  thinkin'  about  a  vacation.  Noiie 
of  your  measly  little  two  weeks'  affairs,  with  one 
week  on  salary,  and  th'  other  without  I  ain't 
goin'  t'  take  my  vacation  for  a  while  —  not  till 
fall,  p'raps,  or  maybe  winter.  But  w'en  I  do 
take  it,  sa-a-ay,  girl,  it's  goin'  t'  be  a  real  one." 

"  But  why  wait  so  long?  "  I  asked.  "  You 
need  it  now.  Who  ever  heard  of  putting  off 
a  vacation  until  winter !  " 

"  Well,  I  dunno,"  mused  Blackie.  "  I  just 
made  my  arrangements  for  that  time,  and  I  hate 
t'  muss  'em  up.  You'll  say,  w'en  the  time  comes, 
that  my  plans  are  reas'nable." 

There  was  a  sharp  ring  from  the  telephone  at 
[250] 


THE  SHADOW  OF  TERROR 

Blackie's  elbow.  He  answered  it,  then  thrust 
the  receiver  into  my  hand.  "  For  you,"  he 
said. 

It  was  Von  Gerhard's  voice  that  came  to  me. 
"  I  have  something  to  tell  you,"  he  said. 
"  Something  most  important.  If  I  call  for  you 
at  six  we  can  drive  out  to  the  bay  for  supper, 
yes  ?  I  must  talk  to  you." 

"  You  have  saved  my  life,"  I  called  back. 
"  It  has  been  a  beast  of  a  day.  You  may  talk 
as  much  and  as  importantly  as  you  like,  so  long 
as  I  am  kept  cool." 

"  That  was  Von  Gerhard,"  said  I  to  Blackie, 
and  tried  not  to  look  uncomfortable. 

"  Mm,"  grunted  Blackie,  pulling  at  his  pipe. 
"Thoughtful,  ain't  he?" 

I  turned  at  the  door.  "  He  —  he's  going 
away  day  after  to-morrow,  Blackie,"  I  ex 
plained,  although  no  explanation  had  been  asked 
for,  "  to  Vienna.  He  expects  to  stay  a  year » — • 
or  two  —  or  three  — " 

Blackie  looked  up  quickly.  "  Goin'  away,  is 
he?  Well,  maybe  it's  best,  all  around,  girl.  I 
see  his  name's  been  mentioned  in  all  the  medi 
cal  papers,  and  the  big  magazines,  and  all  that, 
lately.  Gettin'  t'  be  a  big  bug,  Von  Gerhard  is. 
Sorry  he's  goin',  though.  I  was  plannin'  t'  con 
sult  him  just  before  I  go  on  my  —  vacation. 


DAWN  O'HARA 

But  some  other  guy'll  do.  He  don't  approve  of 
me,  Von  Gerhard  don't." 

For  some  reason  which  I  could  never  ex 
plain  I  went  back  into  the  room  and  held  out 
both  my  hands  to  Blackie.  His  nervous  brown 
fingers  closed  over  them.  '  That  doesn't  make 
one  bit  of  difference  to  us,  does  it,  Blackie?" 
I  said,  gravely.  u  We're  —  we're  not  caring 
so  long  as  we  approve  of  one  another,  are 
we?" 

"  Not  a  bit,  girl,"  smiled  Blackie,  "  not  a 
bit." 

When  the  green  car  stopped  before  the  Old 
Folks'  Home  I  was  in  seraphic  mood.  I  had 
bathed,  donned  clean  linen  and  a  Dutch-necked 
gown.  The  result  was  most  soul-satisfying. 
My  spirits  rose  unaccountably.  Even  the  sight 
of  Von  Gerhard,  looking  troubled  and  distrait, 
did  not  quiet  them.  We  darted  away,  out  along 
the  lake  front,  past  the  toll  gate,  to  the  bay  road 
stretching  its  flawless  length  along  the  water's 
side.  It  was  alive  with  swift-moving  motor  cars 
swarming  like  twentieth-century  pilgrims  toward 
the  mecca  of  cool  breezes  and  comfort.  There 
were  proud  limousines;  comfortable  family  cars; 
trim  little  roadsters;  noisy  runabouts.  Not  a 
hoof-beat  was  to  be  heard.  It  was  as  though 
the  horseless  age  had  indeed  descended  upon  the 
[252] 


THE  SHADOW  OF  TERROR 

world.  There  was  only  a  hum,  a  rush,  a  roar, 
as  car  after  car  swept  on. 

Summer  homes  nestled  among  the  trees  near 
the  lake.  Through  the  branches  one  caught  oc 
casional  gleams  of  silvery  water.  The  rush  of 
cool  air  fanned  my  hot  forehead,  tousled  my 
hair,  slid  down  between  my  collar  and  the  back 
of  my  neck,  and  I  was  grandly  content. 

"  Even  though  you  are  going  to  sail  away,  and 
even  though  you  have  the  grumps,  and  refuse  to 
talk,  and  scowl  like  a  jabberwock,  this  is  an  ex 
tremely  nice  world.  You  can't  spoil  it." 

"  Behiite !  "    Von  Gerhard's  tone  was  solemn. 

"  Would  you  be  faintly  interested  in  knowing 
that  the  book  is  finished?  " 

"So?  That  is  well.  You  were  wearing 
yourself  thin  over  it.  It  was  then  quickly  per 
fected." 

"  Perfected !  "  I  groaned.  "  I  turn  cold  when 
I  think  of  it.  The  last  chapters  got  away  from 
me  completely.  They  lacked  the  punch." 

Von  Gerhard  considered  that  a  moment,  as  I 
wickedly  had  intended  that  he  should.  Then 
— uThe  punch?  What  is  that  then  —  the 
punch?  " 

Obligingly  I  elucidated.  "  A  book  may  be 
written  in  flawless  style,  with  a  plot,  and  a  cli 
max,  and  a  lot  of  little  side  surprises.  But  if 
L253l 


DAWN  O'HARA 

it  lacks  that  peculiar  and  convincing  quality 
poetically  known  as  the  punch,  it  might  as  well 
never  have  been  written.  It  can  never  be  a 
six-best-seller,  neither  will  it  live  as  a  classic. 
You  will  never  see  it  advertised  on  the  book  re 
view  page  of  the  Saturday  papers,  nor  will  the 
man  across  the  aisle  in  the  street  car  be  so  ab 
sorbed  in  its  contents  that  he  will  be  taken  past 
his  corner." 

Von  Gerhard  looked  troubled.  "  But  the 
literary  value?  Does  that  not  enter — " 

"  I  don't  aim  to  contribute  to  the  literary 
uplift,"  I  assured  him.  "  All  my  life  I  have 
cherished  two  ambitions.  One  of  them  is  to 
write  a  successful  book,  and  the  other  to  learn 
to  whistle  through  my  teeth  —  this  way,  you 
know,  as  the  gallery  gods  do  it.  I  am  almost 
despairing  of  the  whistle,  but  I  still  have  hopes 
of  the  book." 

Whereupon  Von  Gerhard,  after  a  moment's 
stiff  surprise,  gave  vent  to  one  of  his  heart 
warming  roars. 

"  Thanks,"  said  I.  "  Now  tell  me  the  im 
portant  news." 

His  face  grew  serious  in  an  instant.  "  Not 
yet,  Dawn.  Later.  Let  us  hear  more  about 
the  book.  Not  so  flippant,  however,  small  one. 

[254] 


THE  SHADOW  OF  TERROR 

The  time  is  past  when  you  can  deceive  me  with 
your  nonsense." 

"  Surely  you  would  not  have  me  take  myself 
seriously !  That's  another  debt  I  owe  my  Irish 
forefathers.  They  could  laugh  —  bless  'em  I 
• —  in  the  very  teeth  of  a  potato  crop  failure. 
And  let  me  tell  you,  that  takes  some  sense  of 
humor.  The  book  is  my  potato  crop.  If  it 
fails  it  will  mean  that  I  must  keep  on  drudging, 
with  a  knot  or  two  taken  in  my  belt.  But  I'll 
squeeze  a  smile  out  of  the  corner  of  my  mouth, 
somehow.  And  if  it  succeeds!  Oh,  Ernst,  if 
it  succeeds!  " 

"Then,  Kindchen?" 

"  Then  it  means  that  I  may  have  a  little  thin 
layer  of  jam  on  my  bread  and  butter.  It  won't 
mean  money  —  at  least,  I  don't  think  it  will.  A 
first  book  never  does.  But  it  will  mean  a  future. 
It  will  mean  that  I  will  have  something  solid 
to  stand  on.  It  will  be  a  real  beginning  —  a 
breathing  spell  —  time  in  which  to  accomplish 
something  really  worth  while  —  independence 
« —  freedom  from  this  tread-mill  — " 
i  "  Stop ! "  cried  Von  Gerhard,  sharply. 
Then,  as  I  stared  in  surprise  — "  I  do  ask  your 
pardon.  I  was  again  rude,  nicht  wahr?  But 
in  me  there  is  a  queer  vein  of  German  supersti- 

[255] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

tion  that  disapproves  of  air  castles.  Sich  ein« 
bilden,  we  call  it." 

The  lights  of  the  bay  pavilion  twinkled  just 
ahead.  The  green  car  poked  its  nose  up  the 
path  between  rows  of  empty  machines.  At  last 
it  drew  up,  panting,  before  a  vacant  space  be 
tween  an  imposing,  scarlet  touring  car  and  a 
smart,  cream-colored  runabout.  We  left  it 
there  and  walked  up  the  light-flooded  path. 

Inside  the  great,  barn-like  structure  that  did 
duty  as  pavilion  glasses  clinked,  chairs  scraped 
on  the  wooden  floor ;  a  burst  of  music  followed  a 
sharp  fusillade  of  applause.  Through  the  open 
doorway  could  be  seen  a  company  of  Tyrolese 
singers  in  picturesque  costumes  of  scarlet  and 
green  and  black.  The  scene  was  very  noisy,  and 
very  bright,  and  very  German. 

"Not  in  there,  eh?"  said  Von  Gerhard,  as 
though  divining  my  wish.  "It  is  too  brightly 
lighted,  and  too  noisy.  We  will  find  a  table 
out  here  under  the  trees,  where  the  music  is 
softened  by  the  distance,  and  our  eyes  are  not 
offended  by  the  ugliness  of  the  singers.  But  in 
excusably  ugly  they  are,  these  Tyrolese  women." 

We  found  a  table  within  the  glow  of  the 
pavilion's  lights,  but  still  so  near  the  lake  that 
we  could  hear  the  water  lapping  the  shore.  A 
cadaverous,  sandy-haired  waiter  brought  things 


THE  SHADOW  OF  TERROR 

to  eat,  and  we  made  brave  efforts  to  appear 
hungry  and  hearty,  but  my  high  spirits  were  ebb 
ing  fast,  and  Von  Gerhard  was  frankly  dis 
traught.  One  of  the  women  singers  appeared 
suddenly  in  the  doorway  of  the  pavilion,  then 
stole  down  the  steps,  and  disappeared  in  the 
shadow  of  the  trees  beyond  our  table,  The 
voices  of  the  singers  ceased  abruptly.  There 
was  a  moment's  hushed  silence.  Then,  from  the 
shadow  of  the  trees  came  a  woman's  voice,  clear, 
strong,  flexible,  flooding  the  night  with  the  bird- 
like  trill  of  the  mountain  yodel.  The  sound 
rose  and  fell,  and  swelled  and  soared.  A  sil 
ence.  Then,  in  a  great  burst  of  melody  the 
chorus  of  voices  within  the  pavilion  answered  the 
eall.  Again  a  silence.  Again  the  wonder  of 
the  woman's  voice  flooded  the  stillness,  ending  in 
a  note  higher,  clearer,  sweeter  than  any  that 
had  gone  before.  Then  the  little  Tyrolese,  her 
moment  of  glory  ended,  sped  into  the  light  of 
the  noisy  pavilion  again. 

When  I  turned  to  Von  Gerhard  my  eyes  were 
wet  "  I  shall  have  that  to  remember,  when  you 
are  gone." 

Von  Gerhard  beckoned  the  hovering  waiter. 

u  Take  these  things  away.     And  you  need  not 

return."     He  placed   something  in  the  man's 

palm  —  something  that  caused  a  sudden  whisk- 

[257] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

ing  away  of  empty  dishes,  and  many  obsequious 
bows. 

Von  Gerhard's  face  was  turned  away  from 
me,  toward  the  beauty  of  the  lake  and  sky. 
Now,  as  the  last  flirt  of  the  waiter's  apron 
vanished  around  the  corner  he  turned  his  head 
slowly,  and  I  saw  that  in  his  eyes  which  made 
me  catch  my  breath  with  apprehension. 

"What  is  it?"  I  cried.  "Norah?  Max? 
The  children?" 

He  shook  his  head.  "  They  are  well,  so  far 
as  I  know.  I  —  perhaps  first  I  should  tell  you 
—  although  this  is  not  the  thing  which  I  have 
to  say  to  you  — " 

"  Yes?  "  I  urged  him  on,  impatiently.  I  had 
never  seen  him  like  this. 

"I  do  not  sail  this  week.  I  shall  not  be 
with  Gliick  in  Vienna  this  year.  I  shall  stay 
here." 

"Here!     Why?     Surely—" 

"  Because  I  shall  be  needed  here,  Dawn.  Be 
cause  I  cannot  leave  you  now.  You  will  need 
• —  some  one  —  a  friend  — " 

I  stared  at  him  with  eyes  that  were  wide  with 
terror,  waiting  for  I  knew  not  what. 

"  Need  —  some  one  —  for  —  what  ?  "  I 
Stammered.  "  Why  should  you  — " 

In  the  kindly  shadow  of  the  trees  Von  Ger- 

[258] 


THE  SHADOW  OF  TERROR 

hard's  hands  took  my  icy  ones,  and  held  them  in 
a  close  clasp  of  encouragement. 

"  Norah  is  coming  to  be  with  you  — " 

"Norah!  Why?  Tell  me  at  once!  At 
once  I  " 

"  Because  Peter  Orme  has  been  sent  home  — 
cured,"  said  he. 

The  lights  of  the  pavilion  fell  away,  and 
advanced,  and  swung  about  in  a  great  sickening 
circle.  I  shut  my  eyes.  The  lights  still  swung 
before  my  eyes.  Von  Gerhard  leaned  toward 
me  with  a  word  of  alarm.  I  clung  to  his  hands 
with  all  my  strength. 

"  No!  "  I  said,  and  the  savage  voice  was  not 
my  own.  "No!  No!  No!  It  isn't  true!  It 
isn't  —  Oh,  it's  some  joke,  isn't  it?  Tell  me, 
it's  —  it's  something  funny,  isn't  it?  And  after 
a  bit  we'll  laugh  —  we'll  laugh  —  of  course  — - 
see !  I  am  smiling  already  — " 

"  Dawn  —  dear  one  —  it  is  true.  God 
'knows  I  wish  that  I  could  be  happy  to  know  it. 
The  hospital  authorities  pronounce  him  cured. 
He  has  been  quite  sane  for  weeks." 

"  You  knew  it  —  how  long?  " 

"  You  know  that  Max  has  attended  to  all 

communications  from  the  doctors  there.     A  few 

weeks  ago  they  wrote  that  Orme  had  shown 

evidences  of  recovery.     He  spoke  of  you,   of 

[259] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

the  people  he  had  known  in  New  York,  of  his 
work  on  the  paper,  all  quite  rationally  and 
calmly.  But  they  must  first  be  sure.  Max  went 
to  New  York  a  week  ago.  Peter  was  gone. 
The  hospital  authorities  were  frightened  and 
apologetic.  Peter  had  walked  away  quite  coolly 
one  day.  He  had  gone  into  the  city,  borrowed 
money  of  some  old  newspaper  cronies,  and  van 
ished.  He  may  be  there  still.  He  may  be  — " 

"Here!  Ernst!  Take  me  home!  O 
God;  I  can't  do  it!  I  can't!  I  ought  to  be 
happy,  but  I'm  not.  I  ought  to  be  thankful,  but 
I'm  not,  I'm  not !  The  horror  of  having  him 
there  was  great  enough,  but  it  was  nothing  com 
pared  to  the  horror  of  having  him  here.  I  used 
to  dream  that  he  was  well  again,  and  that  he 
was  searching  for  me,  and  the  dreadful  realness 
of  it  used  to  waken  me,  and  I  would  find  myself 
shivering  with  terror.  Once  I  dreamed  that  I 
looked  up  from  my  desk  to  find  him  standing 
in  the  doorway,  smiling  that  mirthless  smile  of 
his,  and  I  heard  him  say,  in  his  mocking  way: 
*  Hello,  Dawn  my  love ;  looking  wonderfully 
well.  Grass  widowhood  agrees  with  you, 
eh?"' 

"  Dawn,  you  must  not  laugh  like  that. 
Come,  we  will  go.  You  are  shivering !  Don't, 
dear,  don't.  See,  you  have  Norah,  and  Max, 
[260] 


THE  SHADOW  OF  TERROR 

and  me  to  help  you.  We  will  put  him  on  his 
feet.  Physically  he  is  not  what  he  should  be. 
I  can  do  much  for  him." 

"  You !  "  I  cried,  and  the  humor  of  it  was  too 
exquisite  for  laughter. 

"  For  that  I  gave  up  Vienna,"  said  Von  Ger 
hard,  simply.  u  You,  too,  must  do  your  share." 

"  My  share!  I  have  done  my  share.  He 
was  in  the  gutter,  and  he  was  dragging  me  with 
him.  When  his  insanity  came  upon  him  I 
thanked  God  for  it,  and  struggled  up  again. 
Even  Norah  never  knew  what  that  struggle  was. 
Whatever  I  am,  I  am  in  spite  of  him.  I  tell 
you  I  could  hug  my  widow's  weeds.  Ten  years 
ago  he  showed  me  how  horrible  and  unclean  a 
thing  can  be  made  of  this  beautiful  life.  I  was 
a  despairing,  cowering  girl  of  twenty  then  — 
I  am  a  woman  now,  happy  in  her  work,  her 
friends;  growing  broader  and  saner  in  thought, 
quicker  to  appreciate  the  finer  things  in  life. 
And  now  —  what?  " 

They  were  dashing  off  a  rollicking  folk-song 
indoors.  When  it  was  finished  there  came  a 
burst  of  laughter  and  the  sharp  spat  of  ap 
plauding  hands,  and  shouts  of  approbation. 
The  sounds  seemed  seared  upon  my  brain.  I 
rose  and  ran  down  the  path  toward  the  waiting 
machine.  There  in  the  darkness  I  buried  my 


DAWN  O'HARA 

shamed  face  in  my  hands  and  prayed  for  the 
tears  that  would  not  come. 

It  seemed  hours  before  I  heard  Von  Ger 
hard's  firm,  quick  tread  upon  the  gravel  path. 
He  moved  about  the  machine,  adjusting  this  and 
that,  then  took  his  place  at  the  wheel  without  a 
word.  We  glided  out  upon  the  smooth  white 
road.  All  the  loveliness  of  the  night  seemed 
to  have  vanished.  Only  the  ugly,  distorted 
shadows  remained.  The  terror  of  uncertainty 
gripped  me.  I  could  not  endure  the  sight  of 
Von  Gerhard's  stern,  set  face.  I  grasped  his 
arm  suddenly  so  that  the  machine  veered  and 
darted  across  the  road.  With  a  mighty  wrench 
Von  Gerhard  righted  it.  He  stopped  the  ma 
chine  at  the  road-side. 

"  Careful,  Kindchen,"  he  said,  gravely. 

"  Ernst,"  I  said,  and  my  breath  came  quickly, 
chokingly,  as  though  I  had  been  running  fast, 
"  Ernst,  I  can't  do  it.  I'm  not  big  enough.  I 
can't.  I  hate  him,  I  tell  you,  I  hate  him !  My 
life  is  my  own.  I've  made  it  what  it  is,  in  the 
face  of  a  hundred  temptations ;  in  spite  of  a  hun 
dred  pitfalls.  I  can't  lay  it  down  again  for 
Peter  Orme  to  trample.  Ernst,  if  you  love  me, 
take  me  away  now.  To  Vienna  —  anywhere 
—  only  don't  ask  me  to  take  up  my  life  with 
him  again.  I  can't  —  I  can't  - — " 

[262] 


THE  SHADOW  OF  TERROR 

"Love  you?"  repeated  Ernst,  slowly,  "  yes, 
Too  well  — " 

"  Too  well  — " 

"  Yes,  too  well  for  that,  Gott  sei  dank,  small 
one.  Too  well  for  that." 


[263] 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

PETER   ORME 

A  MAN'S  figure  rose  from  the  shadows  of 
^•^  the  porch  and  came  forward  to  meet  us 
as  we  swung  up  to  the  curbing.  I  stifled  a 
scream  in  my  throat.  As  I  shrank  back  into 
the  seat  I  heard  the  quick  intake  of  Von  Ger 
hard's  breath  as  he  leaned  forward  to  peer  into 
the  darkness.  A  sick  dread  came  upon  me. 

"  Sa-a-ay,  girl,"  drawled  the  man's  voice,  with 
a  familiar  little  cackling  laugh  in  it,  "  sa-a-ay, 
girl,  the  policeman  on  th'  beat's  got  me  spotted 
for  a  suspicious  character.  I  been  hoofin'  it  up 
an*  down  this  block  like  a  distracted  mamma 
waitin'  for  her  daughter  t'  come  home  from  a 
boat  ride." 

"Blackie!     It's  only  you!" 

"  Thanks,  flatterer,"  simpered  Blackie,  com 
ing  to  the  edge  of  the  walk  as  I  stepped  from 
the  automobile.  "  Was  you  expectin'  the  land 
lady?" 

"  I  don't  know  just  whom  I  expected.  I  — 
I'm  nervous,  I  think,  and  you  startled  me.  Dr. 
[264] 


PETER  ORME 

Von  Gerhard  was  taken  back  for  a  moment, 
weren't  you,  Doctor?  " 

Von  Gerhard  laughed  ruefully.  "  Frankly, 
yes.  It  is  not  early.  And  visitors  at  this 
hour—" 

"  What  in  the  world  is  it,  Blackie?  "  I  put  in. 
"  Don't  tell  me  that  Norberg  has  been  seized 
with  one  of  his  fiendish  inspirations  at  this  time 
of  night." 

Blackie  struck  a  match  and  held  it  for  an  in 
stant  so  that  the  flare  of  it  illuminated  his  face 
as  he  lighted  his  cigarette.  There  was  no  laugh 
ter  in  the  deep-set  black  eyes. 

"  What  is  it  Blackie?  "  I  asked  again.  The 
horror  of  what  Von  Gerhard  had  told  me  made 
the  prospect  of  any  lesser  trial  a  welcome  relief. 

"  I  got  t'  talk  to  you  for  a  minute.  P'raps 
Von  Gerhard  'd  better  hear  it,  too.  I  tele 
phoned  you  an  hour  ago.  Tried  to  get  you  out 
to  the  bay.  Waited  here  ever  since.  Got  a 
parlor,  or  somethin',  where  a  guy  can  talk?  " 

I  led  the  way  indoors.  The  first  floor  seemed 
deserted.  The  bare,  unfriendly  boarding-house 
parlor  was  unoccupied,  and  one  dim  gas  jet  did 
duty  as  illumination. 

"  Bring- in  the  set  pieces,"  muttered  Blackie, 
as  he  turned  two  more  gas  jets  flaring  high. 
"  This  parlor  just  yells  for  a  funeral." 

[265] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

Von  Gerhard  was  frowning.  "  Mrs.  Orme 
is  not  well,"  he  began.  "  She  has  had  a  shock 
* —  some  startling  news  —  concerning  — " 

"Her  husband ?"  inquired  Blackie,  coolly. 

I  started  up  with  a  cry.  "  How  could  you 
know?" 

A  look  of  relief  came  into  Blackie's  face. 
"That  helps  a  little.  Now  listen,  kid.  An' 
w'en  I  get  through,  remember  I'm  there  with 
the  little  helpin'  mitt.  Have  a  cigarette,  Doc?  " 

"  No,"  said  Von  Gerhard,  shortly. 

Blackie's  strange  black  eyes  were  fastened  on 
my  face,  and  I  saw  an  expression  of  pity  in  their 
depths  as  he  began  to  talk. 

"  I  was  up  at  the  Press  Club  to-night. 
Dropped  in  for  a  minute  or  two,  like  I  always 
do  on  the  rounds.  The  place  sounded  kind  of 
still  when  I  come  up  the  steps,  and  I  wondered 
where  all  the  boys  was.  Looked  into  the  bil 
liard  room  —  nothin'  doin'.  Poked  my  head  in 
at  the  writin'  room  —  same.  Ambled  into  the 
readin'  room  —  empty.  Well,  I  steered  for  the 
dining  room,  an'  there  was  the  bunch.  An'  just 
as  I  come  in  they  give  a  roar,  and  I  started  to 
investigate.  Up  against  the  fireplace,  with  one 
hand  in  his  pocket,  and  the  other  hanging  care 
less  like  on  the  mantel,  stood  a  man  —  stranger 
t'  rae.  He  was  talkin'  kind  of  low,  and  quick, 

[266] 


PETER  ORME 


bitin'  off  his  words  like  a  Englishman.  An* 
the  boys,  they  was  starin'  with  their  eyes,  an* 
their  mouths,  and  forgettin'  t'  smoke,  an'  lettin1 
their  pipes  an'  cigars  go  dead  in  their  hands, 
while  he  talked.  Talk !  Sa-a-ay,  girl,  that  guy, 
he  could  talk  the  leads  right  out  of  a  ruled, 
locked  form.  I  didn't  catch  his  name.  Tall, 
thin,  unearthly  lookin'  chap,  with  the  whitest 
teeth  you  ever  saw,  an'  eyes  —  well,  his  eyes  was 
somethin'  like  a  lighted  pipe  with  a  little  fine 
ash  over  the  red,  just  waitin'  for  a  sudden  pull 
t'  make  it  glow." 

"  Peter !  "  I  moaned,  and  buried  my  face  in 
my  hands.  Von  Gerhard  put  a  quick  hand  on 
my  arm.  But  I  shook  it  off.  "  I'm  not  going 
to  faint,"  I  said,  through  set  teeth.  "  Pm  not 
going  to  do  anything  silly.  I  want  to  think. 
I  want  to  ...  Go  on,  Blackie." 

"  Just  a  minute,"  interrupted  Von  Gerhard. 
"  Does  he  know  where  Mrs.  Orrne  is  living?  " 

"  I'm  coming  t'  that,"  returned  Blackie,  tran 
quilly.  "  Though  for  Dawn's  sake  I'll  say  right 
here  he  don't  know.  I  told  him  later,  that  she 
was  takin'  a  vacation  up  at  her  folks'  in  Mich 
igan." 

"Thank  God!"  I  breathed. 

"  Wore  a  New  York  Press  Club  button,  this 
guy  did.  I  asked  one  of  the  boys  standin'  on 


DAWN  O'HARA 

the  outer  edge  of  the  circle  what  the  fellow's 
name  was,  but  he  only  says:    *  Shut  up  Black! 
An'  listen.     He's  seen  every  darn  thing  in  the 
world.'     Well,  I  listened.     He  wasn't  braggin'. 
He  wasn't  talkin'   big.     He  was  just   talkin'. 
Seems  like  he'd  been  war  correspondent  in  the 
Boer  war,  and  the  Spanish-American,  an'  Gawd 
knows  where.     He  spoke  low,  not  usin'  any  big 
words,   either,   an'   I  thought  his   eyes  looked 
somethin'  like  those  of  the  Black  Cat  up  on  the 
mantel  just  over  his  head  —  you  know  what  I 
mean,  when  the  electric  lights  is  turned  on  in- 
inside   the   ugly   thing.     Well,    every   time   he 
showed  signs  of  stoppin',  one  of  the  boys  would 
up  with  a  question,  and  start  him  goin'  again. 
He  knew  everybody,  an'  everything,  an'  every 
where.     All  of  a  sudden  one  of  the  boys  points 
to  the  Roosevelt  signature  on  the  wall  —  the  one 
he  scrawled  up  there  along  with  all  the  other 
celebrities  first  time  he  was  entertained  by  the 
Press  Club  boys.     Well  this  guy,  he  looked  at 
the  name  for  a  minute.     '  Roosevelt?  '  he  says, 
slow.     *  Oh,  yes.     Seems  t'  me  I've  heard  of 
him.'     Well,  at  that  the  boys  yelled.     Thought 
it  was  a  good  joke,  seem'  that  Ted  had  been 
smeared  all  over  the  first  page  of  everything  for 
years.     But  kid,  I  seen  th'  look  in  that  man's 
eyes  when  he  said  it,  and  he  wasn't  jokin',  girl. 


PETER  ORME 

An'  it  came  t*  me,  all  of  a  sudden,  that  all  the 
things  he'd  been  talkin'  about  had  happened  al 
most  ten  years  back.  After  he'd  made  that 
break  about  Roosevelt  he  kind  of  shut  up,  and 
strolled  over  to  the  piano  and  began  t'  play. 
You  know  that  bum  old  piano,  with  half  a 
dozen  dead  keys,  and  no  tune?  " 

I  looked  up  for  a  moment.  "  He  could  make 
you  think  that  it  was  a  concert  grand,  couldn't 
he?  He  hasn't  forgotten  even  that?  " 

"  Forgotten?  Girl,  I  don't  know  what  his 
accomplishments  was  when  you  knew  him,  but  if 
he  was  any  more  fascinatin'  than  he  is  now,  then 
I'm  glad  I  didn't  know  him.  He  could  charm 
the  pay  envelope  away  from  a  reporter  that  was 
Saturday  broke.  Somethin'  seemed  t'  urge  me 
t'  go  up  t'  him  an'  say :  4  Have  a  game  of 
billiards?' 

"  *  Don't  care  if  I  do,'  says  he,  and  swung  his 
long  legs  off  the  piano  stool  and  we  made  for 
the  billiard  room,  with  the  whole  gang  after  us. 
Sa-a-ay,  girl,  I'm  a  modest  violet,  I  am,  but  I 
don't  mind  mentionin'  that  the  general  opinion 
up  at  the  club  is  that  I'm  a  little  wizard  with 
the  cue.  Well,  w'en  he  got  through  with  me 
I  looked  like  little  sister  when  big  brother  is 
try  in'  t'  teach  her  how  to  hold  the  cu£  in  her 
fingers.  He  just  sent  them  balls  wherever  he 

[269] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

thought  they'd  look  pretty.  I  bet  if  he'd  held 
up  his  thumb  and  finger  an'  said,  '  Jump  through 
this!  '  them  balls  would  of  jumped." 

Von  Gerhard  took  a  couple  of  quick  steps  in 
Blackie's  direction.  His  eyes  were  blue  steel. 

"  Is  this  then  necessary?  "  he  asked.  "  All 
this  leads  to  what?  Has  not  Mrs.  Orme  suf 
fered  enough,  that  she  should  undergo  this  idle 
chatter?  It  is  sufficient  that  she  knows  this  — 
this  man  is  here.  It  is  a  time  for  action,  not 
for  words." 

"  Action's  comin'  later,  Doc,"  drawled 
Blackie,  looking  impish.  "  Monologuin'  ain't 
my  specialty.  I  gener'ly  let  the  other  gink  talk. 
You  never  can  learn  nothin'  by  talkin'.  But  I 
got  somethin'  t*  say  t'  Dawn  here.  Now,  in 
case  you're  bored  the  least  bit,  w'y  don't  hes 
itate  one  minnit  t'  — " 

"  Na,  you  are  quite  right,  and  I  was  hasty," 
said  Von  Gerhard,  and  his  eyes,  with  the  kindly 
gleam  in  them,  smiled  down  upon  the  little  man. 
"  It  is  only  that  both  you  and  I  are  over-anxious 
to  be  of  assistance  to  this  unhappy  lady.  Well, 
we  shall  see.  You  talked  with  this  man  at  the 
Press  Club?" 

"  He  talked.     I  listened." 

"  That  would  be  Peter's  way,"  I  said,  bitterly. 
"  How  he  used  to  love  to  hold  forth,  and  how 
[270] 


PETER  ORME 

I  grew  to  long  for  blessed  silence  —  for  fewer 
words,  and  more  of  that  reserve  which  means 
strength!  " 

"  All  this  time,"  continued  Blackie,  "  I  didn't 
jknow  his  name.  When  we'd  finished  our  game 
of  billiards  he  hung  up  his  cue,  and  then  he 
turned  around  like  lightning,  and  faced  the  boys 
that  were  standing  around  with  their  hands  in 
their  pockets.  He  had  a  odd  little  smile  on  his 
face  —  a  smile  with  no  fun  it,  if  you  know 
what  I  mean.  Guess  you  do,  maybe,  if  you're 
seen  it. 

"  *  Boys,'  says  he,  smilin'  that  twisted  kind 
of  smile,  '  boys,  I'm  lookin'  for  a  job.  I'm  not 
much  of  a  talker,  an'  I'm  only  a  amateur  at 
music,  and  my  game  of  billiards  is  ragged.  But 
there's  one  thing  I  can  do,  fellows,  from  abc 
up  to  xyz,  and  that's  write.  I  can  write,  boys, 
in  a  way  to  make  your  pet  little  political  scribe 
sound  like  a  high  school  paper.  I  don't  promise 
to  stick.  As  soon  as  I  get  on  my  feet  again  I'm 
going  back  to  New  York.  But  not  just  yet. 
Meanwhile,  I'm  going  to  the  highest  bidder.' 

"  Well,  you  know  since  Merkle  left  us  we 
haven't  had  a  day  when  we  wasn't  scooped  on 
some  political  guff.  *  I  guess  we  can  use  you  — > 
some  place,'  I  says,  tryin'  not  t'  look  too  anxious. 
*  If  your  ideas  on  salary  can  take  a  slump  be- 


DAWN  O'HARA 

tween  New  York  and  Milwaukee.  Our  sal 
aries  around  here  is  more  what  is  elegantly 
known  as  a  stipend.  What's  your  name, 
Bo?' 

*  Name  ? '  says  he,  smiling  again,  *  Maybe 
it'll  be  familiar  t'  you.     That  is,  it  will  if  my 
wife    is    usin'    it.     Orme's   my   name  —  Peter 
Orme.     Know  a  lady  of  that  name?     Good.' 

"  I  hadn't  said  I  did,  but  those  eyes  of  his  had 
seen  the  look  on  my  face. 

"  *  Friends  in  New  York  told  me  she  was 
here,'  he  says.  *  Where  is  she  now?  Got  her 
address  ?  '  he  says. 

"  '  She  expectin'  you?  '  I  asked. 

"  *  N-not  exactly,'  he  says,  with  that  crooked 
grin. 

*  Thought  not,'  I  answered,  before  I  knew 
what  I  was  sayin'.     *  She's  up  north  with  her 
folks  on  a  vacation.' 

"'The  devil  she  is!'  he  says.  *  Well,  in 
that  case  can  you  let  me  have  ten  until  Moi> 
day?'" 

Blackie  came  over  to  me  as  I  sat  cowering  in 
my  chair.  He  patted  my  shoulder  with  one  lean 
brown  hand.  "Now  kid,  you  dig,  see?  Beat 
it.  Go  home  for  a  week.  I'll  fix  it  up  with 
Norberg.  No  tellin'  what  a  guy  like  that's 
goin'  t'  do.  Send  your  brother-in-law  down 
[272] 


PETER  ORME 

here  if  you  want  to  make  it  a  family  affair,  and 
between  us,  we'll  see  this  thing  through," 

I  looked  up  at  Von  Gerhard.  He  was  nod 
ding  approval.  It  all  seemed  so  easy,  so  tempt 
ingly  easy.  To  run  away!  Not  to  face  him 
until  I  was  safe  in  the  shelter  of  Norah's  arms! 
I  stood  up,  resolve  lending  me  new  strength  and 
courage. 

"  I  am  going.  I  know  it  isn't  brave,  but  I 
can't  be  brave  any  longer.  I'm  too  tired  —  too 
old—" 

I  grasped  the  hand  of  each  of  those  men  who 
had  stood  by  me  so  staunchly  in  the  year  that 
was  past.  The  words  of  thanks  that  I  had  on 
my  lips  ended  in  dry,  helpless  sobs.  And  be 
cause  Blackie  and  Von  Gerhard  looked  so  pa 
thetically  concerned  and  so  unhappy  in  my  un- 
happiness  my  sobs  changed  to  hysterical 
laughter,  in  which  the  two  men  joined,  after  one 
moment's  bewildered  staring. 

So  it  was  that  we  did  not  hear  the  front  door 
slam,  or  the  sound  of  footsteps  in  the  hall.  Our 
overstrained  nerves  found  relief  in  laughter,  so 
that  Peter  Orme,  a  lean,  ominous  figure  in  the 
doorway  looked  in  upon  a  merry  scene. 

I  was  the  first  to  see  him.  And  at  the  sight 
of  the  emaciated  figure,  with  its  hollow  cheeks 
and  its  sunken  eyes  all  terror  and  hatred  left  m«, 

[273] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

and  I  felt  only  a  great  pity  for  this  wreck  of 
manhood.  Slowly  I  went  up  to  him  there  in  the 
doorway. 

"Well,  Peter  ?"  I  said. 

"  Well,  Dawn  old  girl,"  said  he  "  you're  look 
ing  wonderfully  fit.  Grass  widowhood  seems  to 
agree  with  you,  eh?  " 

And  I  knew  then  that  my  dread  dream  had 
come  true. 

Peter  advanced  into  the  room  with  his  old 
easy  grace  of  manner.  His  eyes  glowed  as  he 
looked  at  Blackie.  Then  he  laughed,  showing 
his  even,  white  teeth.  "  Why,  you  little  liar!  " 
he  said,  in  his  crisp,  clear  English.  "  I've  a  no 
tion  to  thwack  you.  What  d'  you  mean  by  tell 
ing  me  my  wife's  gone?  You're  not  sweet  on 
her  yourself,  eh?" 

Von  Gerhard  stifled  an  exclamation,  and 
Orme  turned  quickly  in  his  direction.  "  Who 
are  you?"  he  asked.  "Still  another  admirer? 
Jolly  time  you  were  having  when  I  interrupted." 
He  stared  at  Von  Gerhard  deliberately  and 
coolly.  A  little  frown  of  dislike  came  into  his 
face.  "  You're  a  doctor,  aren't  you  ?  I  knew 
it.  I  can  tell  by  the  hands,  and  the  eyes,  and 
the  skin,  and  the  smell.  Lived  with  'em  for  ten 
years,  damn  them!  Dawn,  tell  these  fellows 
[274] 


PETER  ORME 

they  're  excused,  will  you  ?  And  by  the  way,  you 
don't  seem  very  happy  to  see  me?  " 

I  went  up  to  him  then,  and  laid  my  hand  on 
his  arm.  "  Peter,  you  don't  understand.  These 
two  gentlemen  have  been  all  that  is  kind  to  me. 
I  am  happy  to  know  that  you  are  well  again. 
Surely  you  do  not  expect  me  to  be  joyful  at  see 
ing  you.  All  that  pretense  was  left  out  of  our 
lives  long  before  your  —  illness.  It  hasn't  been 
all  roses  for  me  since  then,  Peter.  I've  worked 
until  I  wanted  to  die  with  weariness.  You 
know  what  this  newspaper  game  is  for  a  woman. 
It  doesn't  grow  easier  as  she  grows  older  and 
tireder." 

"  Oh,  cut  out  the  melodrama,  Dawn," 
sneered  Peter.  "  Have  either  of  you  fellows  the 
makin's  about  you?  Thanks.  I'm  famished 
for  a  smoke." 

The  worrying  words  of  ten  years  ago  rose  au 
tomatically  to  my  lips.  "  Aren't  you  smoking 
too  much,  Peter  ?  "  The  tone  was  that  of  a 
harassed  wife. 

Peter  stared.  Then  he  laughed  his  short, 
mirthless  little  laugh.  "  By  Jove !  Dawn,  I 
believe  you're  as  much  my  wife  now  as  you 
were  ten  years  ago.  I  always  said,  you  know, 
that  you  would  have  become  a  first-class  nagger 
[275] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

if  you  hadn't  had  such  a  keen  sense  of  humor. 
That  saved  you."  He  turned  his  mocking  eyes 
to  Von  Gerhard.  "  Doesn't  it  beat  the  devil, 
how  these  good  women  stick  to  a  man,  once 
they're  married  !  There's  a  certain  dog-like  de 
votion  about  it  that's  touching." 

There  was  a  dreadful  little  silence.  For  the 
first  time  in  my  knowledge  of  him  I  saw  a  hot, 
painful  red  dyeing  Blackie's  sallow  face.  His 
eyes  had  a  menace  in  their  depths.  Then,  very 
quietly,  Von  Gerhard  stepped  forward  and 
stopped  directly  before  me. 

"  Dawn,"  he  said,  very  softly  and  gently,  "  I 
retract  my  statement  of  an  hour  ago.  If  you 
will  give  me  another  chance  to  do  as  you  asked 
me,  I  shall  thank  God  for  it  all  my  life.  There 
is  no  degradation  in  that.  To  live  with  this 
man  —  that  is  degradation.  And  I  say  you 
shall  not  suffer  it." 

I  looked  up  into  his  face,  and  it  had  never 
seemed  so  dear  to  me.  "  The  time  for  that  is 
past,"  I  said,  my  tone  as  calm  and  even  as  hrs 
own.  "  A  man  like  you  cannot  burden  himself 
with  a  derelict  like  me  —  mast  gone,  sails  gone, 
water-logged,  drifting.  Five  years  from  now 
you'll  thank  me  for  what  I  am  saying  now.  My 
place  is  with  this  other  wreck  —  tossed  about  by 
wind  and  weather  until  we  both  go  down  to- 


PETER  ORME 

gether."  There  came  a  sharp,  insistent  ring  at 
the  door-bell.  No  answering  sound  came  from 
the  regions  above  stairs.  The  ringing  sounded 
again,  louder  than  before. 

"  I'll  be  the  Buttons,"  said  Blackie,  and  dis 
appeared  into  the  hallway. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I've  heard  about  you,"  came  to 
our  ears  a  moment  later,  in  a  high,  clear  voice 
—  a  dear,  beloved  voice  that  sent  me  flying  to 
the  door  in  an  agony  of  hope. 

"Norah!"  I  cried,  "Norah!  Norah! 
Norah !  "  And  as  her  blessed  arms  closed 
about  me  the  tears  that  had  been  denied  me  be 
fore  came  in  a  torrent  of  joy. 

"There,  there!  "  murmured  she,  patting  my 
shoulder  with  those  comforting  mother-pats. 
"  What's  all  this  about?  And  why  didn't  some 
body  meet  me?  I  telegraphed.  You  didn't  get 
it?  Well,  I  forgive  you.  Howdy-do,  Peter? 
I  suppose  you  are  Peter.  I  hope  you  haven't 
been  acting  devilish  again.  That  seems  to  be 
your  specialty.  Now  don't  smile  that  Mephis- 
jtophelian  smile  at  me.  It  doesn't  frighten  mec 
Von  Gerhard,  take  him  down  to  his  hotel.  I'm 
dying  for  my  kimono  and  bed.  And  this  child 
is  trembling  like  a  race-horse.  Now  run  along, 
all  of  you.  Things  *hat  look  greenery-yallery 
at  night  always  turn  pink  in  the  morning. 

[277.1 


DAWN  O'HARA 

Great  Heavens!  There's  somebody  calling 
down  from  the  second-floor  landing.  It  sounds 
like  a  landlady.  Run,  Dawn,  and  tell  her  your 
perfectly  respectable  sister  has  come.  Peter! 
Von  Gerhard  1  Mr.  Blackie !  Shoo  1 " 


CHAPTER  XIX 

A   TURN   OF   THE   WHEEL 

**  You  who  were  ever  alert  to  befriend  a  mats 
You  who  were  ever  the  first  to  defend  a  man, 
You  who  had  always  the  money  to  lend  a  man 
Down  on  his  luck  and  hard  up  for  a  V, 
Sure  you'll  be  playing  a  harp  in  beatitude 
(And  a  quare  sight  you  will  be  in  that  attitude)1 
Some  day,  where  gratitude  seems  but  a  platitude, 
You'll  find  your  latitude." 

"C^ROM  my  desk  I  could  see  Peter  standing  in 
•*•  the  doorway  of  the  news  editor's  room.  I 
shut  my  eyes  for  a  moment.  Then  I  opened 
them  again,  quickly.  No,  it  was  not  a  dream. 
He  was  there,  a  slender,  graceful,  hateful  figure^ 
with  the  inevitable  cigarette  in  his  unsteady 
fingers  —  the  expensive-looking,  gold-tipped 
cigarette  of  the  old  days.  Peter  was  Peter. 
Ten  years  had  made  little  difference.  There 
were  queer  little  hollow  places  in  his  cheeks,  and 
under  the  jaw-bone,  and  at  the  base  of  the  head, 
and  a  flabby,  parchment-like  appearance  about 
the  skin.  That  was  all  that  made  him  different 
from  the  Peter  of  the  old  days. 


DAWN  O'HARA 

The  thing  had  adjusted  itself,  as  Norah  had 
said  it  would.  The  situation  that  had  filled  me 
with  loathing  and  terror  the  night  of  Peter's 
return  had  been  transformed  into  quite  a  matter- 
of-fact  and  commonplace  affair  under  Norah's 
deft  management.  And  now  I  was  back  in 
harness  again,  and  Peter  was  turning  out  bril 
liant  political  stuff  at  spasmodic  intervals.  He 
was  not  capable  of  any  sustained  effort.  He 
never  would  be  again;  that  was  plain.  He  was 
growing  restless  and  dissatisfied.  He  spoke  of 
New  York  as  though  it  were  Valhalla.  He  said 
that  he  hadn't  seen  a  pretty  girl  since  he  left 
Forty-second  street  He  laughed  at  Milwau 
kee's  quaint  German  atmosphere.  He  sneered 
at  our  journalistic  methods,  and  called  the  news 
papers  "  country  sheets,"  and  was  forever  talk 
ing  of  the  World,  and  the  Herald,  and  the  Sun, 
until  the  men  at  the  Press  Club  fought  shy  of 
him.  Norah  had  found  quiet  and  comfortable 
quarters  for  Peter  in  a  boarding-house  near  the 
lake,  and  just  a  square  or  two  distant  from  my 
own  boarding-house.  He  hated  it  cordially,  as 
only  the  luxury-loving  can  hate  a  boarding- 
house,  and  threatened  to  leave  daily. 

"  Let's  go  back  to  the  big  town,  Dawn,  old 
girl,"  he  would  say.  "  We're  buried  alive  in 
overgrown  Dutch  village.  I  came  here  in 
[280! 


A  TURN  OF  THE  WHEEL 

the  first  place  on  your  account.  Now  it's  up 
to  you  to  get  me  out  of  it.  Think  of  what  New 
York  means !  Think  of  what  I've  been !  And 
I  can  write  as  well  as  ever."  i 

But  I  always  shook  my  head.  "  We  would' 
not  last  a  month  in  New  York,  Peter.  New 
York  has  hurried  on  and  left  us  behind.  We're 
just  two  pieces  of  discard.  We'll  have  to  be 
content  where  we  are." 

"  Content !  In  this  silly  hole  1  You  must 
be  mad !  "  Then,  with  one  of  his  unaccountable 
changes  of  tone  and  topic,  "  Dawn,  let  me 
have  some  money.  I'm  strapped.  If  I  had  the 
time  I'd  get  out  some  magazine  stuff.  Any 
thing  to  get  a  little  extra  coin.  Tell  me,  how 
does  that  little  sport  you  call  Blackie  happen 
to  have  so  much  ready  cash?  I've  never  yet 
struck  him  for  a  loan  that  he  hasn't  obliged  me. 
I  think  he's  sweet  on  you,  perhaps,  and  thinks 
he's  doing  you  a  sort  of  second-hand  favor." 

At  times  such  as  these  all  the  old  spirit  that 
I  had  thought  dead  within  me  would  rise  up  in 
revolt  against  this  creature  who  was  taking 
from  me  my  pride,  my  sense  of  honor,  my 
friends.  I  never  saw  Von  Gerhard  now. 
Peter  had  refused  outright  to  go  to  him  for 
treatment,  saying  that  he  wasn't  going  to  be 
poisoned  by  any  cursed  doctor,  particularly  not 
[281] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

by  one  who  had  wanted  to  run  away  with  his 
wife  before  his  very  eyes. 

Sometimes  I  wondered  how  long  this  could 
go  on.  I  thought  of  the  old  days  with  the  Nir- 
langers;  of  Alma  PflugePs  rose-encircled  cot 
tage;  of  Bennie;  of  the  Knapfs;  of  the  good- 
natured,  uncouth  aborigines,  and  their  many 
kindnesses.  I  saw  these  dear  people  rarely 
now.  Frau  Nirlanger's  resignation  to  her  un- 
happiness  only  made  me  rebel  more  keenly 
against  my  own. 

If  only  Peter  could  become  well  and  strong 
again,  I  told  myself,  bitterly.  If  it  were  not 
for  those  blue  shadows  under  his  eyes,  and  the 
shrunken  muscles,  and  the  withered  skin,  I  could 
leave  him  to  live  his  life  as  he  saw  fit.  But  he 
was  as  dependent  as  a  child,  and  as  capricious. 
What  was  the  end  to  be?  I  asked  myself. 
Where  was  it  all  leading  me? 

And  then,  in  a  fearful  and  wonderful  man 
ner,  my  question  was  answered. 

There  came  to  my  desk  one  day  an  envelope 
bearing  the  letter-head  of  the  publishing  house 
to  which  I  had  sent  my  story.  I  balanced  it 
for  a  moment  in  my  fingers,  woman-fashion, 
wondering,  hoping,  surmising. 

"  Of  course  they  can't  want  it,"  I  told  my 
self,  in  preparation  for  any  disappointment  that 

[282] 


A  TURN  OF  THE  WHEEL 

was  in  store  for  me.  "  They're  sending  it  back. 
This  is  the  letter  that  will  tell  me  so." 

And  then  I  opened  it.  The  words  jumped 
out  at  me  from  the  typewritten  page.  I  crushed 
the  paper  in  my  hands,  and  rushed  into  Blackie's 
little  office  as  I  had  been  used  to  doing  in  the  old 
days.  He  was  at  his  desk,  pipe  in  mouth.  I 
shook  his  shoulder  and  flourished  the  letter  wild 
ly,  and  did  a  crazy  little  dance  about  his  chair. 

"They  want  it!  They  like  it!  Not  only 
that,  they  want  another,  as  soon  as  I  can  get  it 
out.  Think  of  it !" 

Blackie  removed  his  pipe  from  between  his 
teeth  and  wiped  his  lips  with  the  back  of  his 
hand.  "  I'm  thinkin',"  he  said.  "  Anything 
t'  oblige  you,  When  you're  through  shovin' 
that  paper  into  my  face  would  you  mind  ex- 
plainin'  who  wants  what?  " 

"  Oh,  you're  so  stupid!  So  slow!  Can't 
you  see  that  I've  written  a  real  live  book,  and 
had  it  accepted,  and  that  I  am  going  to  write 
another  if  I  have  to  run  away  from  a  whole 
regiment  of  husbands  to  do  it  properly? 
Blackie,  can't  you  see  what  it  means!  Oh, 
Blackie,  I  know  I'm  maudlin  in  my  joy,  but  for 
give  me.  It's  been  so  long  since  I've  had  the 
taste  of  it." 

"  Well,  take  a  good  chew  while  you  got  th* 

[283] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

chance  an'  don't  count  too  high  on  this  first 
book  business.  I  knew  a  guy  who  wrote  a  book 
once,  an*  he  planned  to  take  a  trip  to  Europe 
on  it,  and  build  a  house  when  he  got  home,  and 
maybe  a  yacht  or  so,  if  he  wasn't  too  rushedo 
Sa-a-ay,  girl,  w'en  he  got  through  gettin'  those 
royalties  for  that  book  they'd  dwindled  down  to 
fresh  wall  paper  for  the  dinin'-room,  and  a  new 
gas  stove  for  his  wife,  an'  not  enough  left  over 
to  take  a  trolley  trip  to  Oshkosh  on.  Don't 
count  too  high." 

"  I'm  not  counting  at  all,  Blackie,  and  you 
can't  discourage  me." 

"  Don't  want  to.  But  I'd  hate  to  see  you 
come  down  with  a  thud."  Suddenly  he  sat  up 
and  a  grin  overspread  his  thin  face.  *  Tell 
you  what  we'll  do,  girlie.  We'll  celebrate. 
Maybe  it'll  be  the  last  time.  Let's  pretend  this 
is  six  months  ago,  and  everything's  serene. 
You  get  your  bonnet.  I'll  get  the  machine. 
It's  too  hot  to  work,  anyway.  We'll  take  a 
spin  out  to  somewhere  that's  cool,  and  we'll 
order  cold  things  to  eat,  and  cold  things  to 
drink,  and  you  can  talk  about  yourself  till  you're 
tired.  You'll  have  to  take  it  out  on  somebody, 
an'  it  might  as  well  be  me." 

Five  minutes  later,  with  my  hat  in  my  hand; 
I  turned  to  find  Peter  at  my  elbow. 
[284] 


A  TURN  OF  THE  WHEEL 

"  Want  to  talk  to  you,"  he  said,  frowning. 

"  Sorry,  Peter,  but  I  can't  stop.  Won't  it 
do  later?" 

"  No.    Got  an  assignment  ?    I'll  go  with  you.1^ 

"  N-not  exactly,  Peter.  The  truth  is,  Blackie 
has  taken  pity  on  me  and  has  promised  to  take 
me  out  for  a  spin,  just  to  cool  off.  It  has  been 
so  insufferably  hot." 

Peter  turned  away.  "  Count  me  in  on  that,1' 
he  said,  over  his  shoulder. 

"  But  I  can't,  Peter,"  I  cried.  "  It  isn't  my 
party.  And  anyway  — " 

Peter  turned  around,  and  there  was  an  ugly 
glow  in  his  eyes  and  an  ugly  look  on  his  face, 
and  a  little  red  ridge  that  I  had  not  noticed 
before  seemed  to  burn  itself  across  his  forehead. 
"  And  anyway,  you  don't  want  me,  eh?  Well, 
I'm  going.  I'm  not  going  to  have  my  wife 
chasing  all  over  the  country  with  strange  men. 
Remember,  you're  not  the  giddy  grass  widdy 
you  used  to  be.  You  can  take  me,  or  stay  at 
home,  understand?  " 

His  voice  was  high-pitched  and  quavering. 
Something  in  his  manner  struck  a  vague  terror 
to  my  heart.  "  Why,  Peter,  if  you  care  that 
much  I  shall  be  glad  to  have  you  go.  So  will 
Blackie,  I  am  sure.  Come,  we'll  go  down  now. 
He'll  be  waiting  for  us." 

[285] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

Blackie' s  keen,  clever  mind  grasped  the  situ 
ation  as  soon  as  he  saw  us  together.  His  dark 
face  was  illumined  by  one  of  his  rare  smiles. 
"  Coming  with  us,  Orme  ?  Do  you  good. 
Pile  into  the  tonneau,  you  two,  and  hang  on  to 
your  hair.  I'm  going  to  smash  the  law." 

Peter  sauntered  up  to  the  steering-wheel. 
"  Let  me  drive,"  he  said.  "  I'm  not  bad  at  it" 

"  Nix  with  the  artless  amateur,"  returned 
Blackie.  "  This  ain't  no  demonstration  car. 
I  drive  my  own  little  wagon  when  I  go  riding, 
and  I  intend  to  until  I  take  my  last  ride,  feet 
first." 

Peter  muttered  something  surly  and  climbed 
into  the  front  seat  next  to  Blackie,  leaving  me 
to  occupy  the  tonneau  in  solitary  state. 

Peter  began  to  ask  questions  —  dozens  of 
them,  which  Blackie  answered,  patiently  and 
fully.  I  could  not  hear  all  that  they  said,  but 
I  saw  that  Peter  was  urging  Blackie  to  greater 
speed,  and  that  Blackie  was  explaining  that  he 
must  first  leave  the  crowded  streets  behind. 
Suddenly  Peter  made  a  gesture  in  the  direction 
of  the  wheel,  and  said  something  in  a  high, 
sharp  voice.  Blackie's  answer  was  quick  and 
decidedly  in  the  negative.  The  next  instant 
Peter  Orme  rose  in  his  place  and  leaning  for 
ward  and  upward,  grasped  the  wheel  that  was 
J>86] 


A  TURN  OF  THE  WHEEL 

in  Blackie's  hands.  The  car  swerved  sicken- 
ingly.  I  noticed,  dully,  that  Blackie  did  not  go 
white  as  novelists  say  men  do  in  moments  of 
horror.  A  dull  red  flush  crept  to  the  very  base 
of  his  neck.  With  a  twist  of  his  frail  body  he 
tried  to  throw  off  Peter's  hands.  I  remember 
leaning  over  the  back  of  the  seat  and  trying  to 
pull  Peter  back  as  I  realized  that  it  was  a  mad 
man  with  whom  we  were  dealing.  Nothing 
seemed  real.  It  was  ridiculously  like  the  things 
one  sees  in  the  moving  picture  theaters.  I  felt 
no  fear. 

"Sit  down,  Orme!"  Blackie  yelled. 
41  You'll  ditch  us !  Dawn !  God !  — " 

We  shot  down  a  little  hill.  Two  wheels 
were  lifted  from  the  ground.  The  machine  was 
poised  in  the  air  for  a  second  before  it  crashed 
into  the  ditch  and  turned  over  completely, 
throwing  me  clear,  but  burying  Blackie  and 
Peter  under  its  weight  of  steel  and  wood  and 
whirring  wheels. 

I  remember  rising  from  the  ground,  and  sink 
ing  back  again  and  rising  once  more  to  run 
forward  to  where  the  car  lay  in  the  ditch,  and 
tugging  at  that  great  frame  of  steel  with  crazy, 
futile  fingers.  Then  I  ran  screaming  down  the 
road  toward  a  man  who  was  tranquilly  working 
in  a  field  nearby. 

[287] 


CHAPTER  XX 

BLACKIE'S  VACATION  COMES 

'"T"*HE  shabby  blue  office  coat  hangs  on  the 
•*•  hook  in  the  little  sporting  room  where 
Blackie  placed  it.  No  one  dreams  of  moving 
it.  There  it  dangles,  out  at  elbows,  disrepu 
table,  its  pockets  burned  from  many  a  hot  pipe 
thrust  carelessly  into  them,  its  cuffs  frayed,  its 
lapels  bearing  the  marks  of  cigarette,  paste-pot 
and  pen. 

It  is  that  faded  old  garment,  more  than  any 
thing  else,  which  makes  us  fail  to  realize  that 
its  owner  will  never  again  slip  into  its  comfort 
able  folds.  We  cannot  believe  that  a  lifeless 
rag  like  that  can  triumph  over  the  man  of  flesh 
and  blood  and  nerves  and  sympathies.  With 
what  contempt  do  we  look  upon  those  garments 
during  our  lifetime!  And  how  they  live  on, 
defying  time,  long,  long  after  we  have  been 
gathered  to  our  last  rest. 

In  some  miraculous  manner  Blackie  had  lived 
on  for  two  days  after  that  ghastly  ride.  Peter 
had  been  killed  instantly,  the  doctors  sakL 
[288] 


BLACKIE'S  VACATION  COMES 

They  gave  no  hope  for  Blackie.  My  escape 
with  but  a  few  ridiculous  bruises  and  scratches 
was  due,  they  said,  to  the  fact  that  I  had  sat 
in  the  tonneau.  I  heard  them  all,  in  a  stupor 
of  horror  and  grief,  and  wondered  what  plan 
Fate  had  in  store  for  me,  that  I  alone  should 
have  been  spared.  Norah  and  Max  came,  and 
took  things  in  charge,  and  I  saw  Von  Gerhard, 
but  all  three  appeared  dim  and  shadowy,  like 
figures  in  a  mist.  When  I  closed  my  eyes  I 
could  see  Peter's  tense  figure  bending  over 
Blackie  at  the  wheel,  and  heard  his  labored 
breathing  as  he  struggled  in  his  mad  fury,  and 
felt  again  the  helpless  horror  that  had  come  to 
me  as  we  swerved  off  the  road  and  into  the 
ditch  below,  with  Blackie,  rigid  and  desperate, 
still  clinging  to  the  wheel.  I  lived  it  all  over 
and  over  in  my  mind.  In  the  midst  of  the 
blackness  I  heard  a  sentence  that  cleared  the 
fog  from  my  mind,  and  caused  me  to  raise  my 
self  from  my  pillows. 

Some  one  —  Norah,  I  think  —  had  said  that 
Blackie  was  conscious,  and  that  he  was  asking 
for  some  of  the  men  at  the  office,  and  for  me. 
For  me!  I  rose  and  dressed,  in  spite  of 
Norah's  protests.  I  was  quite  well,  I  told 
them.  I  must  see  him.  I  shook  them  off  with 
trembling  fingers  and  when  they  saw  that  I  was 

[289] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

quite  determined  they  gave  in,  and  Von  Ger 
hard  telephoned  to  the  hospital  to  learn  the  hour 
at  which  I  might  meet  the  others  who  were  to 
see  Blackie  for  a  brief  moment. 

I  met  them  in  the  stiff  little  waiting  room  of 
the  hospital  —  Norberg,  Deming,  Schmidt, 
Holt  —  men  who  had  known  him  from  the  time 
when  they  had  yelled,  "  Heh,  boy!  "  at  him 
when  they  wanted  their  pencils  sharpened. 
Awkwardly  we  followed  the  fleet-footed  nurse 
who  glided  ahead  of  us  down  the  wide  hospital 
corridors,  past  doorways  through  which  we 
caught  glimpses  of  white  beds  that  were  no 
whiter  than  the  faces  that  lay  on  the  pillows. 
We  came  at  last  into  a  very  still  and  bright 
little  room  where  Blackie  lay. 

Had  years  passed  over  his  head  since  I  saw 
him  last?  The  face  that  tried  to  smile  at  us 
from  the  pillow  was  strangely  wizened  and  old. 
It  was  as  though  a  withering  blight  had  touched 
it.  Only  the  eyes  were  the  same.  They 
glowed  in  the  sunken  face,  beneath  the  shock 
of  black  hair,  with  a  startling  luster  and  bril-; 
liancy. 

I  do  not  know  what  pain  he  suffered.  I  do 
not  know  what  magic  medicine  gave  him  the 
strength  to  smile  at  us,  dying  as  he  was  even 
then. 

[290] 


BLACKIE'S  VACATION  COMES 

"  Well,  what  do  you  know  about  little  Paul 
Dombey?"  he  piped  in  a  high,  thin  voice. 
The  shock  of  relief  was  too  much.  We  gig 
gled  hysterically,  then  stopped  short  and  looked 
at  each  other,  like  scared  and  naughty  children. 

"  Sa-a-ay,  boys  and  girls,  cut  out  the  heavy 
thinking  parts.  Don't  make  me  do  all  the  so 
cial  stunts.  What's  the  news?  What  kind  of 
a  rotten  cotton  sportin'  sheet  is  that  dub  Calla- 
han  gettin'  out  ?  Who  won  to-day  —  Cubs  or 
Pirates?  Norberg,  you  goat,  who  pinned  that 
purple  tie  on  you?  " 

He  was  so  like  the  Blackie  we  had  always 
known  that  we  were  at  our  ease  immediately. 
The  sun  shone  in  at  the  window,  and  some  one 
laughed  a  little  laugh  somewhere  down  the  cor 
ridor,  and  Deming,  who  is  Irish,  plunged  into 
a  droll  description  of  a  brand-new  office  boy 
who  had  arrived  that  day. 

"  S'elp  me,  Black,  the  kid  wears  spectacles 
and  a  Norfolk  suit,  and  low-cut  shoes  with  bows 
on  'em.  On  the  square  he  does.  Looks  like 
one  of  those  Boston  infants  you  see  in  the  comic 
papers.  I  don't  believe  he's  real.  We're  sav 
ing  him  until  you  get  back,  if  the  kids  in  the 
alley  don't  chew  him  up  before  that  time." 

An  almost  imperceptible  shade  passed  over 
Blackie's  face.  He  closed  his  eyes  for  a  mo- 
[291] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

ment  Without  their  light  his  countenance  was 
ashen,  and  awful. 

A  nurse  in  stripes  and  cap  appeared  in  the 
doorway.  She  looked  keenly  at  the  little  figure 
in  the  bed.  Then  she  turned  to  us. 

"  You  must  go  now,"  she  said.  "  You  were 
just  to  see  him  for  a  minute  or  two,  you  know." 

Blackie  summoned  the  wan  ghost  of  a  smile 
to  his  lips.  "  Guess  you  guys  ain't  got  th' 
stimulatin'  effect  that  a  bunch  of  live  wires 
ought  to  have.  Say,  Norberg,  tell  that  fat 
head,  Callahan,  if  he  don't  keep  the  third 
drawer  t'  the  right  in  my  desk  locked,  th'  office 
kids'll  swipe  all  the  roller  rink  passes  surest 
thing  you  know." 

"I'll  —  tell  him,  Black,"  stammered  Nor 
berg,  and  turned  away. 

They  said  good-by,  awkwardly  enough. 
Not  one  of  them  that  did  not  owe  him  an  un 
payable  debt  of  gratitude.  Not  one  that  had 
not  the  memory  of  some  secret  kindness  stored 
away  in  his  heart.  It  was  Blackie  who  had 
furnished  the  money  that  had  sent  Deming's 
sick  wife  west.  It  had  been  Blackie  who  had 
rescued  Schmidt  time  and  again  when  drink  got 
a  strangle-hold.  Blackie  had  always  said: 
"Fire  Schmidt!  Not  much!  Why,  Schmidt 
Writes  better  stuff  drunk  than  all  the  rest  of  the 
[292] 


BLACKIE'S  VACATION  COMES 

bunch  sober."  And  Schmidt  would  be  granted 
another  reprieve  by  the  Powers  that  Were. 

Suddenly  Blackie  beckoned  the  nurse  in  the 
doorway.  She  came  swiftly  and  bent  over  him. 

"  Gimme  two  minutes  more,  that's  a  good 
nursie.  There's  something  I  want  to  say  t'  this 
dame.  It's  de  rigger  t'  hand  out  last  messages, 
ain't  it?" 

The  nurse  looked  at  me,  doubtfully.  "  But 
you're  not  to  excite  yourself." 

"  Sa-a-ay,  girl,  this  ain't  goin'  t'  be  no  scene 
from  East  Lynne.  Be  a  good  kid.  The  rest 
of  the  bunch  can  go." 

And  so,  when  the  others  had  gone,  I  found 
myself  seated  at  the  side  of  his  bed,  trying  to 
smile  down  at  him.  I  knew  that  there  must  be 
nothing  to  excite  him.  But  the  words  on  my 
lips  would  come. 

"  Blackie,"  I  said,  and  I  struggled  to  keep 
my  voice  calm  and  emotionless,  "  Blackie,  for 
give  me.  It  is  all  my  fault  —  my  wretched 
fault." 

"  Now,  cut  that,"  interrupted  Blackie.  "  I 
thought  that  was  your  game.  That's  why 
I  said  I  wanted  t'  talk  tj  you.  Now,  listen. 
Remember  my  tellin'  you,  a  few  weeks  ago, 
'bout  that  vacation  I  was  plannin'  ?  This  is  it, 
only  it's  come  sooner  than  I  expected,  that's  all. 
[293] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

1  seen  two  three  doctor  guys  about  it.  Your 
friend  Von  Gerhard  was  one  of  'em.  They 
didn't  tell  me  t'  take  no  ocean  trip  this  time. 
Between  'em,  they  decided  my  vacation  would 
come  along  about  November,  maybe.  Well,  I 
beat  'em  to  it,  that's  all.  Sa-a-ay,  girl,  I  ain't 
kickin'.  You  can't  live  on  your  nerves  and  ex 
pect  t'  keep  goin'.  Sooner  or  later  you'll  be 
suein'  those  same  nerves  for  non-support.  But, 
kid,  ain't  it  a  shame  that  I  got  to  go  out  in  a 
auto  smashup,  in  these  days  when  even  a  air 
ship  exit  don't  make  a  splash  on  the  front 
page!" 

The  nervous  brown  hand  was  moving  rest 
lessly  over  the  covers.  Finally  it  met  my  hand, 
and  held  it  in  a  tense  little  grip. 

"  We've  been  good  pals,  you  and  me,  ain't 
we,  kid?" 

"  Yes,  Blackie." 

"  Ain't  regretted  it  none?  " 

"Regretted  it!  I  am  a  finer,  truer,  better 
woman  for  having  known  you,  Blackie." 

He  gave  a  little  contented  sigh  at  that,  and 
his  eyes  closed.  When  he  opened  them  the  old, 
whimsical  smile  wrinkled  his  face. 

'*  This  is  where  I  get  off  at.  It  ain't  been 
no  long  trip,  but  sa-a-ay,  girl,  I've  enjoyed  every 
mile  of  the  road.  All  kinds  of  scenery  —  all 
[294] 


BLACKIE'S  VACATION  COMES 

kinds     of     lan'scape  —  plain  —  fancy  —  uphill 

—  downhill—" 

I  leaned  forward,  fearfully. 
"Not  —  yet,"  whispered  Blackie.     "  Say  — 
Dawn  —  in  the   story  books  —  they  —  always 

—  are  strong  on  the  —  good-by  kiss,  what?  " 
And  as  the  nurse  appeared  in  the  doorway 

again,  disapproval  on  her  face,  I  stooped  and 
gently  pressed  my  lips  to  the  pain-lined  cheek. 


[295] 


CHAPTER  XXI 

HAPPINESS 

TTT'E  laid  Peter  to  rest  in  that  noisy,  carelesst 
^  *  busy  city  that  he  had  loved  so  well,  and  I 
think  his  cynical  lips  would  have  curled  in  a 
bitterly  amused  smile,  and  his  somber  eyes 
would  have  flamed  into  sudden  wrath  if  he 
could  have  seen  how  utterly  and  completely 
New  York  had  forgotten  Peter  Orme.  He  had 
been  buried  alive  ten  years  before  —  and  News 
paper  Row  has  no  faith  in  resurrections.  Peter 
Orme  was  not  even  a  memory.  Ten  years  is  an 
age  in  a  city  where  epochs  are  counted  by  hours. 
Now,  after  two  weeks  of  Norah's  loving 
care,  I  was  back  in  the  pretty  little  city  by  the 
lake.  I  had  come  to  say  farewell  to  all  those 
who  had  filled  my  life  so  completely  in  that  year. 
My  days  of  newspaper  work  were  over.  The 
autumn  and  winter  would  be  spent  at  Norah's, 
occupied  with  hours  of  delightful,  congenial 
work,  for  the  second  book  was  to  be  written  in 
the  quiet  peace  of  my  own  little  Michigan  town. 
Von  Gerhard  was  to  take  his  deferred  trip  to 

1:2963 


HAPPINESS 

Vienna  in  the  spring,  and  I  knew  that  I  was  to 
go  with  him.  The  thought  filled  my  heart  with 
a  great  flood  of  happiness. 

Together  Von  Gerhard  and  I  had  visited 
Alma  Pflugel's  cottage,  and  the  garden  was 
blooming  in  all  its  wonder  of  color  and  scent  as 
we  opened  the  little  gate  and  walked  up  the 
Worn  path.  We  found  them  in  the  cool  shade 
of  the  arbor,  the  two  women  sewing,  Bennie 
playing  with  the  last  wonderful  toy  that  Blackie 
had  given  him.  They  made  a  serene  and 
beautiful  picture  there  against  the  green  canopy 
of  the  leaves.  We  spoke  of  Frau  Nirlanger, 
and  of  Blackie,  and  of  the  strange  snarl  of 
events  which  had  at  last  been  unwound  to  knit 
a  close  friendship  between  us.  And  when  I  had 
kissed  them  and  walked  for  the  last  time  in 
many  months  up  the  flower-bordered  path,  the 
scarlet  and  pink,  and  green  and  gold  of  that 
wonderful  garden  swam  in  a  mist  before  my 
eyes. 

Frau  Nirlanger  was  next.  When  we  spoke 
of  Vienna  she  caught  her  breath  sharply. 

"  Vienna !  "  she  repeated,  and  the  longing  in 
her  voice  was  an  actual  pain.  "  Vienna ! 
Gott!  Shall  I  ever  see  it  again?  Vienna! 
My  boy  is  there.  Perhaps  — " 

"  Perhaps,"  I  said,  gently.  "  Stranger  things 
[297] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

have  happened.  Perhaps  if  I  could  see  them, 
and  talk  to  them  —  if  I  could  tell  them  —  they 
might  be  made  to  understand.  I  haven't  been 
a  newspaper  reporter  all  these  years  without 
acquiring  a  golden  gift  of  persuasiveness.  Per 
haps  —  who  knows  ?  —  we  may  meet  again  in 
Vienna.  Stranger  things  have  happened." 

Frau  Nirlanger  shook  her  head  with  a  little 
hopeless  sigh.  "  You  do  not  know  Vienna ;  you 
do  not  know  the  iron  strength  of  caste,  and  cus 
tom  and  stiff-necked  pride.  I  am  dead  in  Vi 
enna.  And  the  dead  should  rest  in  peace." 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  Von  Ger 
hard  and  I  turned  the  corner  which  led  to  the 
building  that  held  the  Post.  I  had  saved  that 
for  the  last. 

"  I  hope  that  heaven  is  not  a  place  of  golden 
streets,  and  twanging  harps  and  angel  cho 
ruses,"  I  said,  softly.  "  Little,  nervous,  slangy, 
restless  Blackie,  how  bored  and  ill  at  ease  he 
would  be  in  such  a  heaven !  How  lonely,  with 
out  his  old  black  pipe,  and  his  checked  waist 
coats,  and  his  diamonds,  and  his  sporting  extra. 
(Oh,  I  hope  they  have  all  those  comforting, 
everyday  things  up  there,  for  Blackie's  sake." 

"  How  you  grew  to  understand  him  in  that 
short  year,"  mused  Von  Gerhard.  "  I  some 
times  used  to  resent  the  bond  between  you  and 

[298] 


HAPPINESS 

this  little  Blackie  whose  name  was  always  on 
your  tongue." 

"  Ah,  that  was  because  you  did  not  compre-* 
hend.  It  is  given  to  very  few  women  to  know 
the  beauty  of  a  man's  real  friendship.  That 
was  the  bond  between  Blackie  and  me.  To  me 
he  was  a  comrade,  and  to  him  I  was  a  good- 
fellow  girl  —  one  to  whom  he  could  talk  with 
out  excusing  his  pipe  or  cigarette.  Love  and 
love-making  were  things  to  bring  a  kindly, 
amused  chuckle  from  Blackie." 

Von  Gerhard  was  silent.  Something  in  his 
silence  held  a  vague  irritation  for  me.  I  ex 
tracted  a  penny  from  my  purse,  and  placed  it  in 
his  hand. 

44 1  was  thinking,"  he  said,  "  that  none  are 
so  blind  as  those  who  will  not  see." 

"  I  don't  understand,"  I  said,  puzzled. 

"  That  is  well,"  answered  Von  Gerhard,  as 
we  entered  the  building.  "  That  is  as  it  should 
be."  And  he  would  say  nothing  more. 

The  last  edition  of  the  paper  had  been  run 
off  for  the  day.  I  had  purposely  waited  until 
the  footfalls  of  the  last  departing  reporter 
should  have  ceased  to  echo  down  the  long  cor 
ridor.  The  city  room  was  deserted  except  for 
one  figure  bent  over  a  pile  of  papers  and  proofs. 
Norberg,  the  city  editor,  was  the  last  to  leave, 
[299] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

>as  always.  His  desk  light  glowed  in  the  dark* 
ness  of  the  big  room,  and  his  typewriter  alone 
awoke  the  echoes. 

As  I  stood  in  the  doorway  he  peered  up  from 
beneath  his  green  eye-shade,  and  waved  a  cloud 
of  smoke  away  with  the  palm  of  his  hand. 

"That  you,  Mrs.  Orme?"  he  called  out. 
"  Lord,  we've  missed  you !  That  new  woman 
can't  write  an  obituary,  and  her  teary  tales 
sound  like  they  were  carved  with  a  cold  chisel. 
When  are  you  coming  back?  " 

"  1 5m  not  coming  back,"  I  replied.  "  I've 
come  to  say  good-by  to  you  and  —  Blackie." 

Norberg  looked  up  quickly.  "  You  feel  that 
way,  too?  Funny.  So  do  the  rest  of  us. 
Sometimes  I  think  we  are  all  half  sure  that  it 
is  only  another  of  his  impish  tricks,  and  that 
some  morning  he  will  pop  open  the  door  of  the 
city  room  here  and  call  out,  *  Hello,  slaves  I 
Eeen  keepin'  m'  memory  green?  ' 

I  held  out  my  hand  to  him,  gratefully.  He 
took  it  in  his  great  palm,  and  a  smile  dimpled 
his  plump  cheeks.  "  Going  to  blossom  into  a 
regular  little  writer,  h'm?  Well,  they  say  it's 
a  paying  game  when  you  get  the  hang  of  it. 
And  I  guess  you've  got  it.  But  if  ever  you 
feel  that  you  want  a  real  thrill  —  a  touch  of 
the  old  satisfying  newspaper  feeling  —  a  sniff 
[300] 


HAPPINESS 

of  wet  ink  —  the  music  of  some  editorial  cuss 
ing  —  why  come  up  here  and  I'll  give  you  the 
hottest  assignment  on  my  list,  if  I  have  to 
take  it  away  from  Deming's  very  notebook." 

When  I  had  thanked  him  I  crossed  the  hall 
and  tried  the  door  of  the  sporting  editor's  room. 
Von  Gerhard  was  waiting  for  me  far  down  at 
the  other  end  of  the  corridor.  The  door 
opened  and  I  softly  entered  and  shut  it  again. 
The  little  room  was  dim,  but  in  the  half-light  I 
could  see  that  Callahan  had  changed  something 
• —  had  shoved  a  desk  nearer  the  window,  or 
swung  the  typewriter  over  to  the  other  side.  I 
resented  it.  I  glanced  up  at  the  corner  where 
the  shabby  old  office  coat  had  been  wont  to 
hang.  There  it  dangled,  untouched,  just  as  he 
had  left  it.  Callahan  had  not  dared  to  change 
that.  I  tip-toed  over  to  the  corner  and  touched 
it  gently  with  my  fingers.  A  light  pall  of  dust 
had  settled  over  the  worn  little  garment,  but 
I  knew  each  worn  place,  each  ink-spot,  each 
scorch  or  burn  from  pipe  or  cigarette.  I  passed 
my  hands  over  it  reverently  and  gently,  and 
then,  in  the  dimness  of  that  quiet  little  room  I 
laid  my  cheek  against  the  rough  cloth,  so  that 
the  scent  of  the  old  black  pipe  came  back  to  me 
once  more,  and  a  new  spot  appeared  on  the 
sleeve  —  a  damp,  salt  spot.  Blackie 

[301] 


DAWN  O'HARA 

would  have  hated  my  doing  that.  But  he  was 
not  there  to  see,  and  one  spot  more  or  less  did 
not  matter;  it  was  such  a  grimy,  disreputable 
old  coat. 

"  Dawn !  "  called  Von  Gerhard  softly,  out 
side  the  door.  "  Dawn!  Coming,  Kindchen?  '* 

I  gave  the  little  coat  a  parting  pat.  "  Good- 
by,"  I  whispered,  under  my  breath,  and  turned 
toward  the  door. 

"  Coming !  "  I  called,  aloud. 


THE  END 


•[3021 


4 'The  Books  You  Like  to  Read 
at  the  Price  You  Like  to  Pay" 


There  Are  Two  Sides 
to  Everything — 

— including  the  wrapper  which  covers 
every  Grosset  &  Dunlap  book.  When 
you  feel  in  the  mood  for  a  good  ro 
mance,  refer  to  the  carefully  selected  list 
of  modern  fiction  comprising  most  of 
the  successes  by  prominent  writers  of 
the  day  which  is  printed  on  the  back  of 
every  Grosset  &  Dunlap  book  wrapper. 

You  will  find  more  than  five  hundred 
titles  to  choose  from — books  for  every 
mood  and  every  taste  and  every  pocket- 
book. 

Don't  forget  the  other  side,  but  in  case 
the  wrapper  is  lost,  write  to  the  publishers 
for  a  complete  catalog. 


There  is  a  Grosset  &  Dunlap  Book 
for  every  mood  and  jor  every  taste 


RUBY   M.    AYRES'    NOVELS 

May  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold.     Ask  for  Grosset  and  Dunlap's  list. 


THE  MAN  WITHOUT  A  HEART 

Why  was  Barbara  held  captive  in  a  deserted  hermit's  hut  for  days  by  a  "  man 
without  a  heart  "  and  in  the  end  how  was  it  that  she  held  the  winning  cards. 

THE  ROMANCE  OF  A  ROGUE 

Twenty-four  hours  after  his  release  from  prison  Bruce  Lawn  finds  himself  play 
ing  a  most  surprising  role  in  a  drama  of  human  relationships  that  sweeps  on  to  a 
wonderfully  emotional  climax. 

THE  MATHERSON  MARRIAGE 

She  married  for  money.  With  her  own  hands  she  had  locked  the  door  on  hap 
piness  and  thrown  away  the  key.  But,  read  the  story  which  is  very  interesting  and 
well  told. 

RICHARD  CHATTERTON 

A  fascinating  story  in  which  love  and  jealousy  play  strange  tricks  with  women's 
souls. 

A  BACHELOR  HUSBAND 

Can  a  woman  love  two  men  at  the  same  time  ?  " 

In  its  solving  of  this  particular  variety  of  triangle  "A  Bachelor  Husband"  will 
particularly  interest,  and  strangely  enough,  without  one  shock  to  the  most  conven 
tional  minded. 

THE  SCAR 

With  fine  comprehension  and  insight  the  author  shows  a  terrific  contrast  be 
tween  the  woman  whose  love  was  of  the  flesh  and  one  whose  love  was  of  the  spirit. 

THE  MARRIAGE  OF   BARRY  WICKLOW 

Here  is  a  man  and  woman  who,  marrying  for  love,  yet  try  to  build  their  wedded 
life  upon  a  gospel  of  hate  for  each  other  and  yet  win  back  to  a  greater  love  for  each 
other  in  the  end. 

THE  UPHILL  ROAD 

The  heroine  of  this  story  was  a  consort  of  thieves.  The  man  was  fine,  clean, 
fresh  from  the  West.  It  is  a  story  of  strength  and  passion. 

WINDS  OF  THE  WORLD 

Jill,  a  poor  little  typist,  marries  the  great  Henry  Sturgess  and  inherits  millions, 
but  not  happiness.  Then  at  last— but  we  must  leave  that  to  Ruby  M.  Ayres  to  tell 
you  as  only  she  can. 

THE  SECOND  HONEYMOON 

In  this  story  the  author  has  produced  a  book  which  no  one  who  has  loved  or 
hopes  to  love  can  afford  to  miss.  The  story  fairly  leaps  from  climax  to  climax. 

THE  PHANTOM  LOVER 

Have  you  not  often  heard  of  someone  being  in  love  with  love  rather  than  the 
person  they  believed  the  object  of  their  affections  ?  That  was  Esther !  But  she 
passes  through  the  crisis  into  a  deep  and  profound  love. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,          PUBLISHERS,          NEW  YORK 


THE  NOVELS  OF 

GRACE     LIVINGSTON     HILL 

(MRS.  LUTZ) 

May  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold.     Ask  for  Grosset  and  Dunlap's  list 
BEST  MAN,  THE 
CLOUDY  JEWEL 
DAWN  OF  THE  MORNING 
ENCHANTED  BARN,  THE 
EXIT  BETTY 

FINDING  OF  JASPER  HOLT.  THE 
GIRL  FROM  MONTANA,  THE 
LO,  MICHAEL  ! 
MAN  OF  THE  DESERT.  THE 
MARCIA  SCHUYLER 
MIRANDA 

MYSTERY  OF  MARY,  THE 
OBSESSION  OF  VICTORIA  GRACEN,  THE 
PHOEBE  DEANE 
RED  SIGNAL,  THE 
SEARCH,  THE 
TRYST,  THE 

VOICE  IN  THE  WILDERNESS,  A 
WITNESS,  THE 

A*k    for  Complete   free  list  of  G.   &   D.  Popular  Copyrighted  Fiction 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  PUBLISHERS,         NEW  YORK 


EMERSON    HOUGH'S    NOVELS 

May  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold.     Ask  for  Grosset  and  Dunlap's  list 

THE  COVERED  WAGON 

NORTH  OF  36 

THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

THE  STORY  OF  THE  OUTLAW 

THE  SAGEBRUSHER 

THE  GIRL  AT  THE  HALFWAY  HOUSE 

THE  WAY  OUT 

THE  MAN  NEXT  DOOR 

THE  MAGNIFICENT  ADVENTURE 

THE  BROKEN  GATE 

THE  STORY  OF  THE  COWBOY 

THE  WAY  TO  THE  WEST 

54-40  OR  FIGHT 

HEART'S  DESIRE 

THE  MISSISSIPPI  BUBBLE 

THE  PURCHASE  PRICE 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,    PUBLISHERS,   NEW  YORK 


JACKSON  GREGORY'S  NOVELS 

May  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold.       Ask  for  Grosset  &  Duniap's  list. 

THE  EVERLASTING  WHISPER 

The  story  of  a  strong  man's  struggle  against  savage  nature  and  human- 
ity,  and  of  a  beautiful  girl's  regeneration  from  a  spoiled  child  of  wealth  into 
a  courageous  strong-willed  woman. 

DESERT  VALLEY 

A  college  professor  sets  out  with  his  daughter  to  find  gold.  They  nutd 
a  rancher  who  loses  his  heart,  and  become  involved  in  a  feud.  An  intensely 
exciting  story. 

MAN  TO  MAN 

Encircled  with  enemies,  distrusted,  Steve  defends  his  rights.  How  he 
won  his  game  and  the  girl  he  loved  is  the  story  filled  wtth  breathless 
situations. 

THE  BELLS  OF  SAN  JUAN 

Dr.  Virg-n?a  Page  is  forced  to  go  with  the  sheriff  on  a  nigh*  journey 
into  the  strongholds  of  a  lawless  band.  Thrills  and  excitement  sweep  the 
leader  along  to  tbe  end. 

JUDITH  OF  BLUE  LAKE  RANCH 

Judith  Sanford  pavt  owner  of  a  cattle  ranch  realizes  she  is  beir.g  robbed 
by  her  foreman.  How,  with  the  help  of  Bud  Lee,  she  checkmates  Trevor's 
echeme  makes  fasciuatiug  reading. 

THE  SHORT  CUT 

Wayne  is  suspected  of  killing  his  brother  after  a  violent  quarrel.  )**feaan> 
cial  complications,  villains,  a  horse-race  and  beautiful  Wanda,  all  go  to  make 
up  a  thrilling  romance. 

THE  JOYOUS  TROUBLE  MAKER 

A  reporter  sets  up  housekeeping  -cicse  to  Beatrice's  Ranch  much  to  hef 
chagrin.  There  is  "  another  man  "  who  complicates  matters,  but  all  turns 
out  as  it  should  in  this  tale  of  romance  and  adventure. 

SIX  FEET  FOUR 

Beatrice  Waverly  is  robbed  of  $5,000  *nd  suspicion  fastens  upon  Buck 
'  Thornton,  but  she  soon  realizes  he  is  not  guilty.  Intensely  exciting,  here  is  • 
teal  story  of  the  Great  Far  West. 

WOLF  BREED 

No  Luck  Drennan  had  grown  hard  throuflfe  Irss  of  faith  in  men  he  had 
trusted.  A  woman  hater  and  sharp  of  tongue,  he  finds  a  match  in  Ygerne 
whose  clever  fencing  wins  the  admiration  and  love  of  the  "  Lone  Wolf." 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,        PUBLISHERS,         NEW  YOR« 


PETER  B.  KYNE'S  NOVELS 

May  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold.       Ask  for  Grosset  &  Dunlap's  ilst. 

THE  PRIDE  OF  PALOMAR 

When  two  strong  men  clash  and  the  under-dog  has  Irish 
blood  in  his  veins — there's  a  tale  that  Kyne  can  tell  1  And 
M  the  girl "  is  also  very  much  in  evidence. 

KINDRED  OF  THE  DUST 

Donald  McKay,  son  of  Hector  McKay,  millionaire  lum» 
ber  king,  falls  in  love  with  "  Nan  of  the  Sawdust  Pile,"  a 
cnarming  girl  who  has  been  ostracized  by  her  townsfolk,! 

THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  GIANTS   " 

The  fight  of  the  Cardigans,  father  and  son,  to  hold  the 
Valley  of  the  Giants  against  treachery.  The  reader  finishes 
with  a  sense  of  having  lived  with  big  men  and  women  in  a 
big  country. 

GAPPY  RICKS 

The  story  of  old  Cappy  Kicks  and  or  Matt  Peasley,  the 
boy  he  tried  to  break  because  he  knew  the  acid  test  was 
good  for  his  soul. 

WEBSTER:   MAN'S  MAN 

In  a  little  Jim  Crow  Republic  in  Central  America,  a  man 
and  a  woman,  hailing  from  the  "  States,"  met  up  with  a 
revolution  and  for  a  while  adventures  and  excitement  came 
so  thick  and  fast  that  their  love  affair  had  to  wait  for  a  lull 
in  the  game. 

CAPTAIN  SCRAGGS 

This  sea  yarn  recounts  the  adventures  of  three  rapscal 
lion  sea-faring  men — a  Captain  Scraggs,  owner  of  the  green 
vegetable  freighter  Maggie,  Gibney  the  mate  and  McGuff- 
ney  the  engineer. 

THE  LONG  CHANCE 

A  story  fresh  from  the  heart  of  the  West,  of  San  Pasquai, 
V  ;un-baked  desert  town,  of  Harley  P.  Hennage,  the  best 
gambler,  the  best  and  worst  man  of  San  Pasquai  and  of 
lovely  Donna. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,        PUBLISHERS,         NEW  YORK 


STORIES  OF  RARE  CHARM  BY 

GENE  STRATTON-PQRTER 

May  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold.     Ask  for  Grosset  &  Dunlap's  list. 

THE  WHITE  FLAG. 

How  a  young  girl,  singlehanded,  fought  against  the  power  of  the  More- 
lands  who  held  the  town  of  Ashwater  in  their  grip. 

HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER. 

This  story  is  of  California  and  tells  of  that  charming  girl,  Linda  Strong,  i 
otherwise  known  as  "  Her  Father's  Daughter." 

A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  LAND. 

Kate  Bates,  the  heroine  of  this  story,  is  a  true  "  Daughter  of  the  Land," 
and  to  read  about  her  is  truly  inspiring. 

MICHAEL  O'HALLORAN. 

Michael  is  a  quick-witted  little  Irish  newsboy,  living  in  Northern  Indiana. 
He  adopts  a  deserted  little  girl,  a  cripple.  He  also  aspires  to  lead  the  entire 
rural  community  upward  and  onward. 

LADDIE. 

This  is  a  bright,  cheery  tale  with  the  scenes  laid  in  Indiana.  The  story  is 
told  by  Little  Sister,  the  youngest  member  of  a  large  family,  but  it  is  con 
cerned  not  so  much  with  childish  doings  as  with  the  love  affairs  of  older 
members  of  the  family, 

THE  HARVESTER. 

"The  Harvester,"  is  a  man  of  the  woods  and  fields,  and  is  well  worth 
knowing,  but  when  the  Girl  comes  to  his  "  Medicine  Woods,"  there  begins  a 
romance  of  the  rarest  idyllic  quality. 

FRECKLES. 

Freckles  is  a  nameless  waif  when  the  tale  opens,  but  the  way  in  which  he 
takes  hold  of  life  ;  the  nature  friendships  he  forms  ;  and  his  love-story  with 
"  The  Angel  "  are  full  of  real  sentiment. 

A  GIRL  OF  THE  LIMBERLOST. 

The  story  of  a  girl  of  the  Michigan  woods  ;  a  buoyant,  loveable  type  of 
the  self-reliant  American.  Her  philosophy  is  one  of  love  and  kindness  toward 
all  things  ;  her  hope  is  never  dimmed. 

AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW. 

The  scene  of  this  charming  love  story  is  laid  in  Central  Indiana.  It  is  one 
of  devoted  friendship,  and  tender  self-sacrificing  love. 

THE  SONG  OF  THE  CARDINAL. 


The  love  idyl  of  the  Cardinal  and  his  mate,  told  with  rare  delicacy  and 
humor. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,         PUBLISHERS,          NEW  YORK 


KATHLEEN   NORRIS*  STORIES 

May  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold.        Ask  for  Grossed  &  Dunlap's  list 

SISTERS.   Frontispiece  by  Frank  Street. 

The  California  Redwoods  furnish  the  background  for  this 
beautiful  story  of  sisterly  devotion  and  sacrifice. 

POOR,  DEAR,  MARGARET  KIRBY. 
Frontispiece  by  George  Gibbs. 

A  collection  of  delightful  stories,  including  "  Bridging  the.' 
Years"  and  "The  Tide-Marsh."  This  story  is  now  shown  in' 
moving  pictures.  '< 

JOSSELYN'S  WIFE.  Frontispiece  by  C.  Allan  Gilbert. 

The  story  of  a  beautiful  woman  who  fought  a  bitter  fight  lot 
happiness  and  love. 

MARTIE,  THE  UNCONQUERED. 
Illustrated  by  Charles  E.  Chambers. 
The  triumph  of  a  dauntless  spirit  over  adverse  conditions. 

THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL. 
Frontispiece  by  Charles  E.  Chambers. 

An  interesting  story  of  divorce  and  the  problems  that  come 
with  a  second  marriage. 

THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE. 

Frontispiece  by  C.  Allan  Gilbert. 

^  A  sympathetic  portrayal  of  the  quest  of  a  normal  girl,  obscure 

and  lonely,  for  the  happiness  of  life. 

SATURDAY'S  CHILD.    Frontispiece  by  F.  Graham  Cootes, 

Can  a  girl,  born  in  rather  sordid  conditions,  lift  herself  througl 
sheer  determination  to  the  better  things  for  which  her  soul 
,  hungered  ? 

MOTHER.    Illustrated  by  F.  C.  Yohn. 

A  story  of  the  big  mother  heart  that  beats  in  the  background 
of  every  girl's  life,  and  some  dreams  which  came  true. 

Ask  for  Complete  free  list  of  G.    6-  D.    Popular  Copyrighted  Fiction 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,          PUBLISHERS,  NEW  YORK 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 

Return  to  desk  from  which  borrowed. 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


S£P  30 


NOV  14-  1353 


REC'D  L 


MAR  7 


SC  MAR  2  6  '91 


2  7  1999 


lar'63BB 


LOAN  OEPT. 

NOV  2  4  1969     7 

KOV  12  •& 

DEC  2 1  1989 


LD  21-100m-ll,'49(B7146sl6)476 


90 


U.C.  BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


CDOTOETlSt, 


2f- 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


